Blacking Out the Friction
by Raven Corvus
Summary: Logan has gotten into some trouble since his return from the Vietnam War. Between the PTSD and his mercenary work, he's struggling to adapt to civilian life once again. A new job he takes leaves him with a bad feeling in his gut. The consequences of his actions will be more than he bargained for, but will they affect those around him too? (Takes place before Days of Future Past)
1. Cheap Thrills

NEY YORK – November 1972

Lawrence observed the petite woman in front of him as she examined the apartment unit. She appeared to be in her sixties, but the way she carried herself was youthful. Despite her short graying hair, her deep brown eyes glinted with a zeal for life. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he felt the familiar sting of chemicals in his lungs as the nicotine eased his mind. He exhaled the smoke before starting their conversation once more.

"Are you sure you want this flat? Truth be told, I haven't had anyone stick around for more than three months at a time." As the property manager of the apartment complex, it was his job to make sure that the units were making money. No one had occupied the unit for a whole month, and the landlord had been pushing him to have someone sign the lease. However, as much as he needed this job, he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of potential renters. While the landlord's affairs were questionable at times, it was his goal to make sure his own dealings were fair and legal.

"I don't see what the problem is. It's a charming space and the location is convenient." She said as she examined the unit, her eyes gleaming.

He took another lungful of the cigarette smoke as he chose his next words carefully, knowing full well the reason behind the large turnover in renters. "The problem isn't the flat itself, but the tenant above. To be honest with you, I'm always getting noise complaints about him."

She chuckled. "I appreciate the honesty, but that shouldn't be a problem for my old ears."

"Well," he smiled, "if you insist. I'll have you sign a month-to-month lease for now just in case you change your mind."

"That's very kind of you, darling."

"What'd you say your name was again?"

"Ida Peters, and yours?"

"Lawrence Bailey, but please just call me Lawrence." He said as he shook her hand. "Would you like to sign now or give it some thought for a few more days?"

Ida assessed the unit once more and nodded. "I'll go ahead and sign."

* * *

Logan laid back on the leather couch as a Looking Glass record played on his turntable. The smoke from the cigar between his fingers rose in silver wisps that were disturbed by the soft, crisp breeze that drifted through his open window. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet aroma. As he let his mind wander, the distant whirring of a helicopter reached his ears. Without warning, a flashback of a medevac in Vietnam assaulted his mind. His breath quickened as his mind was taken back to the war zone he had left almost a year ago. The sound of his wounded comrades screaming echoed in his ears and he could smell the sickly-sweet metallic stench of blood and Avgas in the air as if it was yesterday.

As the helicopter's roar melted into the city's traffic, a knock on his door jarred him from the memory. He took in a sharp breath as his eyes snapped open. Running a trembling hand through his hair, he took a moment to regain a solid grasp of his surroundings. Another knock sounded, and he took a puff of his cigar before getting up. He wasn't expecting anyone, making it safe to assume that the person at his door could only be Lawrence. Letting out the cloud of smoke with a sigh, he collected himself and answered the door. As expected, he found his friend standing in the hallway. The expression on his face was more gleeful than usual and Logan raised an eyebrow.

"What is it Lawrence?"

"I have some good news! Mind if I come in?" He asked. Logan stepped aside, and he entered the flat.

"Listen, I've got a job to do soon so you better make this quick." Logan said as he shut the door.

He shook his head as he walked over to a small, round dining table that was littered with miscellaneous papers. "You and your 'jobs'. Don't you want to make an honest living? One that might better this city instead of helping the illegal activity that's running rampant?"

"After all we've seen and done, working a nine-to-five office job would drive me insane. We saw some messed-up shit in Korea, and Vietnam wasn't any better." Logan replied.

"Exactly, which is why I chose to fail the aptitude test when I was drafted for Vietnam. You, on the other hand leapt at the opportunity, and ever since Nixon pulled your brigade out of the war you've been in over your head in illegal activity. _Again_." He said as he began organizing the mess.

"What I'm doing helps you and the landlord keep this place running as other businesses crumble. Besides, nowadays there ain't much difference between what I do and what some cops do around here." Logan retorted. "Now what's this 'good news' that you have for me?"

Lawrence looked up from what he was doing and stared hard at him. As much as he hated to admit it, Logan had a point, so he dropped the topic. "You know the unit below you? Someone finally signed a lease for it."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "And I care because?"

"Well, I don't think you'll have much trouble with this one. The tenant is an elderly woman, maybe late sixties, who has hearing loss."

"Right, because the complaining from previous renters was _really_ getting under my skin." He replied sarcastically.

Lawrence smoothed his blond hair back and sighed. "Would you think about someone other than yourself for a minute? It's a good thing because I don't have to explain that your late night, illegal antics keep people from renewing a monthly lease. Your coming and going in the middle of the night isn't exactly quiet, Logan. I've had to cover for you since the day you moved in. The landlord would evict you if he knew half the things you've done, let alone what you are."

He ignored him and shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall. Seeing that it was a quarter till two, he walked over to his turntable and switched it off. There were more pressing matters he had to attend to, and the rest of Lawrence's lecture could wait until tomorrow. "As much as I would love to stay and chat about his, I've got to get going."

He shrugged on his brown leather jacket and started towards the door when Lawrence took hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He looked over and saw the concern on his friend's clean-shaven face.

"Look, I know adjusting to civilian life is hard. We were both there eighteen years ago. But _please_ be careful with this 'business' that you've gotten into."

"You've seen the damage I can take, I can handle this."

He shook his head. "I'm not talking about that. It's your mental health that's got me worried. You're chasing nothing but cheap thrills at this point." Lawrence countered, his blue eyes fixed on Logan's. For a moment, neither of them moved. Logan could see that while Lawrence's disproval was written all over his face, his eyes held nothing but concern for him. Logan broke eye contact as a twinge of guilt ran through him. However, he quickly suppressed the feeling and jerked his arm free from Lawrence's hold. Neither of them said another word as he left the apartment and headed for the stairs.

Driving to the bar in Queens took just under an hour. Carlisle had set the hole-in-the-wall establishment as the rendezvous point for him to meet a distributor. He hadn't bothered to ask for details. All he cared about was earning the money. As far as he was concerned he only needed to know the what, when, where, and how; not the who and the why. That was part of the job. He was merely the middle man in Carlisle's web of contacts. Logan entered the uncrowded bar and took a seat on a barstool. He was pleased to find that the only other patron was nursing a drink at a table by the jukebox. The man was too consumed by his own woes to pay attention to anything else. Bill Withers' smooth, baritone voice playing on the jukebox was enough to clue him in on the stranger's heartbreak. He asked the bartender for a whiskey and proceeded to wait.

When he had finished the drink, he glanced at his watch. With a scowl, he drummed his fingers on the counter and scanned the bar. Whoever was distributing was running fifteen minutes late. As illegal as his job was, Logan still expected a certain level of respect and professionalism from the people he was working with. He slammed down the rest of his whiskey and took a cigar out of his jacket pocket. As he finished lighting it, he signaled for another drink. Shortly after the bartender had handed him another whiskey, a man who looked to be in his twenties sat beside him.

"It's James, right?" He asked.

"Depends who's asking." Logan replied after he took a puff of his cigar. "You're late."

The man disregarded the comment as he smoothed his corduroy blazer. He scanned the bar and fidgeted with his wrinkled tie. "You work for Carlisle, right?"

Logan's brow furrowed at the man's disregard for subtlety. "Alright kid, you obviously haven't done this much so let's get to the point. What is it you need me to deliver?" He asked before he took a swig from his glass. The man nodded to the briefcase sitting on the floor. He leaned back and squinted as he sized up the hard-shell attaché. It was large enough to be an overnight bag and the faux leather was starting to wear.

"Deliver that to this address and you'll get your money there." He replied. The paper slip that he held out to him shook like a leaf in his hand. Logan took it and read the chicken scratch before making eye contact with him.

"What's in the case?" The briefcases he had transported in the past were typically smaller and seeing it now had piqued his curiosity. With more experienced individuals, he wouldn't have dared to ask. It wasn't his business to know. The man in front of him, however, was a young amateur. There was no harm in pushing his luck this time.

"It's a need-to-know basis, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, and I don't need to know." He muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand. It was worth a try. Whoever sent him had instructed him well. "When does it need to be at this address?"

"Tonight, by ten."

* * *

Logan glanced at the leather case sitting in the passenger seat, his curiosity gnawing at him as he drove through the Holland Tunnel. Yet as curious as he was, he knew better than to open the case. Drawing from his own experience, he assumed that the most realistic scenario was that the briefcase either contained cocaine or heroin. The two drugs were on demand as of late, and he had been hired to transport them before. However, the only detail that didn't make sense to him was the heaviness of the briefcase. Cases of drugs were typically light, but from what he could tell the attaché weighed a little less than a toddler. There was also the absence of the distinct smell the two drugs had. The only scent he could pick up from the case was metallic, but it lacked the odor of machine oil and gunpowder that guns carried.

He shifted his weight in the seat of his black Mustang Fastback. A sense of dread settled in his gut and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. Something about this job didn't sit right, but in this economy, he couldn't be picky about how he earned his money. The fact that his earnings also went towards supporting Lawrence and his title as property manager motivated Logan to stay in this line of work. However, beneath those shallow reasons and excuses, there was a part of him that enjoyed the thrill of working these jobs. As long as he worked for Carlisle, nothing could touch him. The man had bought most of the NYPD's loyalty, and those that weren't in his pocket were too afraid of being whacked to do anything about it.

He arrived in the West Side of Jersey City around nine-thirty and discovered the address led him to a nearly empty parking lot. The only sources of light that permeated the darkness were his headlights and the distant street lamps perched on the Pulaski Skyway. At this hour, the outskirts of West Side were practically a ghost town. He parked the car and pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket. Once the tip had begun to burn evenly with a soft glow, he cranked his window down halfway. The gray smoke from his cigar clouded around his head as he gave it a few puffs and his hazel eyes scanned the lot. Being as early as he was, he would be sitting there for a while. Logan fiddled with the radio dial until he found a decent station and leaned back into his seat.

It only took twenty-five minutes until a bright light in his rearview mirror caught his attention. His eyes darted to the mirror and he watched a pair of headlights turn into the parking lot. Holding his cigar between his teeth, he took hold of the briefcase and exited the car. A sleek Stutz Blackhawk pulled up beside him and two men stepped out. Logan took his cigar out of his mouth as he sized up the strangers. The two men who had exited the front of the car were stocky, and his trained eyes recognized the odd way their blazers laid on their chests. He narrowed his eyes and made a mental note that the men were armed. One of them opened the back door and a wiry man, whose air compensated for what he lacked in height, stepped out and adjusted his homburg hat. All three of them were wearing freshly pressed, three-piece suits. His nose wrinkled at the distinct smell of wealth. Whoever these men were, they had been doing this for a while and were being paid generously.

"You must be our guy." The man with the hat observed.

"I don't see anyone else carrying a suspicious briefcase." Logan remarked dryly.

He chuckled. "The name's Alton, my two friends here are John and Nicky. I hope they don't intimidate you."

"I'm used to this sort of thing."

"Of course, Carlisle had nothing but good things to say about you. Here's the twenty thousand as promised." He said as he pulled a thin package wrapped in brown paper out from the inner breast pocket of his blazer.

Logan took a double-take. He hadn't realized that Carlisle had set the price so high. He glanced at the briefcase in his hand, realizing he was transporting something more valuable than drugs. He handed the case over to one of the heavies, who he assumed was John, and slipped the thin package of money into his jacket pocket. As John struggled to put the case in the trunk, Logan realized the briefcase's contents were much heavier than he had originally thought. The case was eased into the trunk and the car sunk an inch with the weight. This was definitely something he was going to ask Carlisle about later.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you. Maybe we'll see you again." Alton smiled as he slid into the backseat of the Blackhawk. Logan wordlessly smoked his cigar and watched the Blackhawk exit the parking lot. He stood there for a moment as he blew out the smoke, trying to wrap his head around what had just transpired.

By the time he made it back to his apartment in Brooklyn, it was almost one in the morning. A last-minute stop to purchase some butabarbital from a contact had added over an hour to his drive. It was a small inconvenience, but his nightmare induced insomnia was steadily getting worse. Shoving the small bag into his inner coat pocket, he entered the apartment complex and called the elevator. As he waited, his mind replayed what had happened earlier. A soft ding pulled him from his thoughts and he stepped inside the dingy elevator.

He made his way down the musty hallway. The fatigue that had been building the last few months began to catch up with him as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Forgetting his own strength, he unintentionally slammed the door shut behind him as he walked inside. Logan flinched and swore under his breath and turned back to bolt it. He then went to his fridge and opened it. There wasn't much inside except for a box of leftover pizza and a case of beer. He grabbed the pizza box and walked over to his couch. Taking a bite of a slice, he slumped into the couch. Logan held the cold pizza slice with his teeth and unzipped his jacket pocket. Pulling out the crumpled paper bag along with what was left of his cash, he tossed them both onto the coffee table.

It took him only minutes to devour what was left of the pizza and he discarded the box onto the floor. With a sigh, he leaned forward and picked up the bag and pulled out the orange, translucent prescription bottle. Logan read the label, noting that the instructed dose was one pill. For a while, he simply held the bottle, the object weighing heavy in his hand. He kneaded the back of his neck. The last time he had abused barbiturates was almost twelve years ago. He and Lawrence had been roommates at the time, and it was Lawrence who had helped him quit after finding him passed out on the floor. He pushed aside the red flags in his mind with the excuse that he needed them to sleep. The PTSD that he refused to acknowledge made it nearly impossible for him to get the rest he needed at night. Furthermore, his healing factor counteracted most of the nasty side effects. Surely, he could handle taking them occasionally.

He finally unscrewed the cap and took three times the suggested dose, reasoning with himself that taking more than prescribed didn't put him in any danger. If anything, it made sure that he could even experience the intended effects of the medicine. Closing his eyes, he laid down and rested his head on a throw pillow. It didn't take long for the drug to kick in and a cold numbness pulled him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A knocking at his door woke Logan and he swore under his breath. He grunted and pulled the throw pillow over his head, hoping the visitor would go away. Between just waking up and the faint remnants of the barbiturate, his mind was foggy, and company was the last thing he wanted at the moment. The second he began to drift off, another three knocks sounded. With a groan, he threw off the pillow and got up to answer the door. When he opened it, he raised an eyebrow. At his door was an elderly woman holding a Tupperware container of food. He cocked his head at the sight, trying to decide if what he was seeing was real or a new side effect of the barbiturate.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Ida Peters, your new downstairs neighbor." She said, her smile accentuating the umber wrinkles of her skin. "I had some leftover cookies from a batch I made, and it sounded like something upset you last night, so I decided to bring them over."

Logan furrowed his brow and scratched his head. This was actually happening. He had expected Lawrence or an angry neighbor at his door, not a kind elderly woman. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't wake me; I was up and down all last night. It was just by chance that I heard your door."

"Right, would you like to come in?"

She shook her head and handed him the container. "I would, but I have a full list of things that need to get done today." Logan scratched his beard and shifted his weight. He could tell that she was lying, but he couldn't blame her. He knew his appearance was disheveled and according to Ida, he had sounded angry the night before. They had only met each other a minute ago, and as of right now he was just a stranger who potentially had anger issues. She had every right to decline his offer.

"I understand, thank you for the nice surprise. Usually, my neighbors show up at my door to complain."

"Well sometimes people should be given the benefit of a doubt. We all have our ups and downs." She held out her hand. "I don't think you've given me your name yet."

"It's James, James Howlett." He smiled as he shook her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, James."

"Likewise." They said goodbye and Logan let the door close as he walked over to his kitchenette. He placed the container of cookies on the counter and heard another knock at his door. From the knock alone, he could tell it was Lawrence. "Door's open."

"Hey, was Ida just at your door?" He asked as he walked in.

"Yeah, she came by and dropped off some cookies because she thought I was upset last night."

"Dammit Logan, how did you manage to wake an elderly woman with bad hearing?"

Logan sighed and turned to face him. "Listen, I didn't wake her. And besides, I'm going to try to be better. I forget my strength sometimes."

"I swear if you cause her to move out I'm forcing you to live in the basement."

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Why are you here? Did you just come to lecture me?"

"The landlord wants me to routinely check-up on appliances and what-not. After hearing about the apartment fire down the street he—" Lawrence stopped short when a pill bottle and wad of cash on the coffee table caught his eye. He stiffened and was at the coffee table in three strides. Logan braced himself as his friend glared daggers at the pill bottle. He knew better than to leave something like that out in the open, especially with how often Lawrence visited him. The lack of sleep he was getting must have been impacting him more than he had originally thought.

"Lawrence, I can explain—"

"What the fuck is this, Logan?" He demanded as he turned to him, shaking the pill bottle in the air for emphasis. Logan ran a hand over his face as he walked over to him.

"Last night, the job—"

"The job what? Left you unsatisfied so you turned back to barbiturates? This is exactly what I warned you about!"

"You know what? Stay out of my shit!" Logan snapped as he snatched the pill bottle from Lawrence's hand. The sudden venom that laced his snarl made Lawrence flinch. What Logan hadn't told him was that his nightmares had returned with a vengeance, and the ominous nature of last night's job would have aggravated them. The only thing that seemed to provide instant relief from his horrific dreams was taking the barbiturates. He knew that there were better alternatives, but the drug was the only one that yielded immediate results with the least amount of effort.

"I can evict you over this!" Lawrence threatened once his resolve returned.

"Evict me and you lose your extra income and most likely your job!" They held each other's intense stares, fuming at one another. Lawrence took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself.

"Logan, as your friend, it's my responsibility to tell you when you're not doing well. First the alcohol, now the drugs? Again?" His blue eyes searched his face. "Your healing factor may prevent the physical damage, but you're spiraling, and you refuse to talk about it. At this point I don't give a damn about the money. You need to quit this gig you're doing."

He looked away as he thought over his next words. Quitting wasn't an option, not when the pay was as good as it was. He sighed and locked eyes with him once more. "Look, last night I made twenty grand just for transporting some brief case and I may be asked to do it again. I can't turn that down."

His jaw dropped. "What the hell was in that case? Drugs?"

"No, it was heavy, and drugs make money but not _that_ much. Not usually."

"I swear if you're selling weapons illegally—"

"I don't know what it is, alright? That's where I'm heading today. I'm going to ask—"

Lawrence was quick to interrupt him. "No, I don't want to hear that criminal's name. You know the feds have spent _months_ searching for him, right? They even have a bounty on that guy's head. Why don't you make money off that?"

"It's not that easy." He sighed.

"Of course, it isn't." Lawrence replied coldly. "Last time you were like this, I found you overdosed on the floor with your skull cracked open. I really hope you don't end up at the bottom of some river this time."

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but instead found himself at a loss for words as Lawrence stormed out.


	2. Blindsided

Logan parked his Mustang along the street in front of the bar where he knew Carlisle would be. As he finished his cigar, he eyed the brick apartment complex before his stare drifted to the bar's storefront below. On the outside, the brick building looked like any old run-down bar. In fact, the average passerby wouldn't have given the place a second thought and the establishment was just as deceiving on the inside. While the place functioned as a bar, the inner walls belonged to one of the most wanted men in New York. It amazed him how no one realized what happened behind those walls, and that those who were aware never spoke a word about it. Logan exited his car and stubbed the cigar under his heel against the pavement before descending the steps to enter.

The inside was dimly lit as usual and he squinted his eyes as they adjusted. As a Sam Cooke record played on an old jukebox in the corner, he scanned the bar and found only two patrons sitting at the counter. He and the bartender, Mike, exchanged a curt nod before he walked over to the sliding double doors on the right. He stepped into the wood paneled room and was greeted by the pungent smell of cigarette smoke and the notorious, citrusy musk of Eau Sauvage cologne. It was here where Carlisle ran his 'business'. A quiet and secluded place in the middle of the city that never slept. Wrinkling his nose, he slid the door shut behind him before a hand stopped him in his tracks with an iron grip. Logan tensed and glared at the hand on his shoulder.

"Do you have an appointment?" A man nearly twice his size asked with narrowed eyes. He recognized him as Frank, one of Carlisle's bodyguards.

"I'm a walk-in." Logan retorted as he squared up his shoulders.

"Let him through, Frank." He heard Carlisle say.

"You heard the man." Logan smirked. Frank gave his shoulder a painful squeeze as a warning before letting go. Logan ignored the gesture and walked over to Carlisle who was seated on a beige armchair. The way the lean, well-dressed man's lips formed a crooked smile around the smoldering cigarette in his mouth made Logan's skin crawl. He might have worked for the guy, but that didn't mean he liked him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today, Jimmy?" He asked as he gestured to an equally beige sofa in front of him. "Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home."

"I thought I'd stop by to discuss last night's job." He said as he complied.

"Oh yes, they had exceptional things to say about you. Not that I'm surprised, you're the best there is at what you do."

Logan chose to ignore the compliment. "I know these sorts of things function on a need-to-know basis, but I have to ask. What was in that briefcase? Drugs don't normally run that high of a price, Carlisle."

He laughed. It was a sharp and breathy noise that was harsh on the ears. "You're too smart for your own good. I'll tell you, but only because you're my favorite. What you were transporting is known as one of the strongest metals in the world."

"What?" He knit his eyebrows together, thoroughly confused.

"They call it adamantium, and there's a military man fixing on collecting as much of it as he can."

"Why is this, adam-whatever, being dealt like an illegal weapon if it's just a metal?"

"Because the adamantium is going to be used to make one." Carlisle took a drag on his cigarette and motioned to a waitress. "In other news, I'm glad you came by today. I've found a new assignment for you."

"Does it deal with more of this adamantium stuff?" Logan asked with a raised eyebrow as the waitress handed him a glass of whiskey.

The corners of his mouth pulled downward as he shrugged. "Yes and no. It pertains more to someone who is trying to stick their nose where it doesn't belong."

"And you want me to take him out?"

"Her," Carlisle corrected as he handed Logan a photo, "she works for an organization known as S.H.I.E.L.D and her name is June. I know she doesn't look like a threat, but she's starting to cause problems for our client. He's willing to pay forty grand for someone to take care of her, and I thought you might be the best man for the job."

He stared at the photo in his hand, taking note of her warm, brown skin and heart-shaped face. The way her short, black hair was styled reminded him of the actress Dorothy Dandridge. Logan stroked the facial hair on his chin as his lips pressed into a hard line. Even though he couldn't remember how or why, he was familiar with the agency she worked for. The more he stared at the photo, the more the uneasy feeling from yesterday pressed in in him.

His gaze flicked up to meet Carlisle's as he pocketed the photo. "New York is a big place. Do you have a lead on her location?"

"We know a S.H.I.E.L.D. rat who told her that someone with intel on the adamantium was willing to meet along Prospect Park West tonight. That someone, of course, will be you." He paused, noticing the hesitation in Logan's eyes. "I hope you're not going soft on me because she's a broad."

"Of course not." He snapped before downing the whiskey.

"I expect to hear good news from you in four days. You know how much I hate being disappointed."

Logan set the glass on the table, the glass making a sharp resounding clang. He stood and stared into Carlisle's icy gaze. "You'll get your good news."

* * *

Logan sat on a park bench as he waited for his target. Leaning back, his mind recalled Lawrence's warnings. There was no doubt that he was in over his head, especially if S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved. It took him some digging, but if his memory served him correctly, he had encountered them briefly during World War Two. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s involvement was a clear sign that this adamantium potentially posed a graver threat than he realized. Perhaps settling for a blue-collar job like Lawrence suggested would have been better, and the thought made Logan chuckle grimly to himself.

The sun soon descended below the horizon and the road became illuminated by yellow street lights. As the night grew darker, the windows of the brownstone houses began to illuminate the street like urban fireflies. He checked his watch and noted that it was seven-thirty. With a sigh, he rested his arm atop the back of the bench. Carlisle hadn't given him a specific time frame as to when June would meet him. It had been several hours now, and he was growing impatient.

As he wondered if the agent would show, his ears picked up a distressed cry. He looked around, searching for the source of the sound, but saw nothing in his immediate vicinity. The cry sounded again, and Logan pinpointed the location with ease. When the wind shifted, he caught the scent of fear and adrenaline in the air.

Any other night he would've shrugged it off. This was New York City after all, and unfortunately each night claimed its own victims. What made him reconsider, however, was that he couldn't deny the fact that the voice sounded familiar. Logan swore, realizing he a choice to make. Either he could sit around indefinitely and wait for the agent or help whoever was in trouble. He decided to go with his gut and ran towards the sound.

It didn't take him long to reach the source and he slowed his pace as he approached an alleyway shrouded in darkness. He peered around the corner and his keen eyes saw three men surrounding an elderly woman. The woman was backed up against the corner and her arms were raised in a feeble attempt to defend herself.

"Come on lady, just give us the damn purse!" One of them shouted as he took a step closer.

"Please, I don't have much." She pleaded. Logan's eyes widened as he realized that the woman was Ida. Without hesitation, he clenched his fists and moved in.

"If you want to leave this alley with your life, I suggest you back off." He threatened as he came up behind them. The three men spun around and one of them aimed their pistol at him.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself! You're outnumbered and unarmed." The man holding the gun replied.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." Logan threw a swift punch to the man with the gun and he landed hard on the ground. The shorter of the three pulled out a switchblade and went to slash at Logan's side. His martial arts training kicked in and he dodged the movement with ease. Grabbing hold of the man's wrist, he swiftly broke it and then used the man's momentum to throw him. As he landed, the man cradled his wrist and cried out. Logan whipped his head towards the remaining mugger who had his fists up, ready to fight. He stepped forward to take him on when he heard the familiar click of a gun cocking to his left. He and the man both looked over to where Ida was standing. The expression on her face was stony as she aimed a revolver at the man.

"You best get out of here before I shoot." The man glanced at his two friends and then hightailed it out of the alley. An unexpected gunshot sounded from behind Logan and his shoulder burned like fire as a bullet sunk into his flesh. He grunted and then spun to face the man who had shot him. Confusion was written all over the mugger's face as Logan stalked towards him, unaffected by the wound.

"What the hell are you?" he asked as he frantically tried to back away.

"I'm just a soldier." Logan said before rendering the man unconscious with a kick to his head.

Ida de-cocked her revolver and then slipped it back into her purse. "James? Is that really you? Are you alright?"

He turned to face her and nodded. "I'm fine, he missed. Did they hurt you?"

"No, you stepped in before they were able to. The three of them surrounded me before I could get to my revolver." She looked up at him. "Thank you, I don't know where you came from or how you found me but thank you."

"I was out getting some fresh air. Why are _you_ out here at this hour?"

"Same as you, except I forgot how short the days are in November." She chuckled.

"May I walk you back?" He asked. She nodded and the two of them exited the alley. Their apartment was only a few blocks away and they carried a casual conversation as they walked. When they arrived at the building, Logan and Ida stepped inside and he called the elevator. As they waited, he sensed her studying him.

He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"You mentioned back there that you were a soldier. I didn't realize you were in the military." She said. "If you don't mind me asking, which war did you serve in?"

"I served in both Korea and Vietnam. Lawrence and I were in the same platoon in Korea. That's how we know each other."

"It's not easy fighting in wars, especially wars people don't like. I know many people who have strong feelings regarding Vietnam, but you boys are just following orders."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but we're not exactly blameless either." He sighed. "Good, bad, it's all the same and people still die. This war has just opened people's eyes to that fact.

"You sound like my husband when he was around your age. He was part of the 92nd Division during the First World War." She paused as they entered the elevator. "He was killed in action during the Second World War."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ida."

She shrugged. "It's like you said, people die. Sometimes the person who dies is someone you know, but I'm sure you know that quite well."

He was silent for a moment as he recalled the faces of people he once knew. Unfortunately, he knew that intimately well. After serving in four bloody wars, it was simply a fact he had to live with. Logan cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. "I assume that Colt revolver was your husband's?"

"Yes, it was his firearm during the First World War. He brought it back with him and gave it to me."

"I thought I recognized it." Logan mused. In fact, he still had his own tucked away somewhere. Of course, he only held onto it for the sake of it being an antique rather than a weapon to use. The elevator reached the third floor and Logan walked her to her unit down the hall.

"I can't thank you enough for helping me back there, James. Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to invite someone like me over?"

"Please, you just risked your life to save mine. I think I can trust you." She grinned.

"As much as I would love to, I've actually got some work that needs to get done." He had missed his chance to meet the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and therefore had to work harder to find her before Carlisle's deadline.

"I'm sure you can make time for dinner."

He sighed, finding himself unable to politely refuse her generous offer. "Alright, but I can't stay for more than an hour." They bade farewell to each other and Logan climbed a flight of steps to return to his own unit. After bolting the door behind him, he grabbed the bottle of butabarbital that was sitting on the counter. He began to head over to his bedroom when he remembered the cookies that were still on the kitchen counter. Realizing that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, he took a handful with him into his bedroom.

After finishing his fifth cookie, he placed the pill bottle on his nightstand and took his shirt off to assess its damage. As expected, there was a small circular tear where the bullet had penetrated. Thankfully, Ida hadn't noticed the hole nor the stain around it. He tossed the ruined, dark button-up onto the floor and made a mental note to toss the garment in the morning. It had been a mentally exhausting day, and even now he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was very wrong about his assignment. To top it all off, he had missed what was most likely his only opportunity to find the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

He swapped his jeans for sweatpants and fell into his unmade bed with a sigh. What was he going to tell Carlisle? The man was unpredictable at best, and the possibility of him knowing about Lawrence made Logan's blood run cold. He ran a hand over his face and squeezed his eyes shut. He would never forgive himself if the very actions that Lawrence despised led to him getting hurt, or worse. Rolling over onto his side, he grabbed the bottle of butabarbital and took three. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts faded into static and sleep came over him.

* * *

The day started for Logan around six in the morning. After getting dressed, he made himself a quick pot of coffee and then began his search for the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. His search started in Manhattan before driving through the lower end of Brooklyn. When he hadn't seen any sign of June, he drove through Long Island all the way up to East Hampton. It was almost three in the afternoon when he finally decided to end his search for her. He had practically driven through every street in Long Island and had found nothing. He rested his arm on the doorframe and fidgeted with his hair. If he didn't find her before Friday, this would be his first time returning to Carlisle empty handed. He smoked his fourth cigar for that day as he drove down Route 25 heading west towards Brooklyn.

It was four-thirty by the time he had returned to his apartment complex. Seeing that he had some time to spare before he joined Ida for dinner, he decided to stop by Lawrence's flat on the first floor. When he arrived at his door, he hesitated before finally knocking.

"Lawrence? You in there?" Hearing no answer, Logan knocked harder. Worse-case scenarios began to creep into his mind and he toyed with the idea of busting down the door. The sound of shuffled footsteps finally sounded from behind the door and he forced his tense muscles to relax.

"The hell man, can't a guy nap in peace?" Lawrence muttered as he opened the door.

He shrugged. "I thought maybe this month's payment would make your sleep more restful."

"Sleep isn't ever restful with you around." He rubbed his face as he stepped aside. "Come on in."

Logan shook his head. "I can't this time."

"Why? Do you have a certain prescription that you have to take?" Lawrence asked dryly.

Logan ignored the comment. "Believe it or not, Ida invited me over for dinner tonight because I stopped some muggers from robbing her." He then held out the wad of cash that was in his pocket. "This is yours."

Lawrence stared at the cash with jaded eyes and didn't move.

"Are you gonna take it or what?"

"Not today. I'm still mad that you're back on those damn drugs."

"Are you seriously turning down cold, hard cash because of that?" Logan scoffed.

"Yeah, because I'm trying to prove a point." He retorted. "I care more about your life than the damn money."

Logan swore under his breath and shoved the money back into his pocket. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm not the one doing drugs and playing mercenary because I'm depressed and shell-shocked, but God forbid I talk about it."

"You know what? Fuck you, Lawrence." He retorted as he stalked down the hallway.

"I'm only being an ass because I care!" He called after him. Logan ignored him and rounded the corner to call an elevator. He arrived at the third floor and made his way over to Ida's apartment. Still heated from his conversation with Lawrence, he paused and calmed himself with a deep breath before knocking on the door. She answered the door soon after and smiled up at him.

"Welcome James, I'm glad you could make it!" He thanked her and followed her inside. The furnishings of her unit were modest, but the place was still warm and inviting. On the windowsill sat multiple plants and, on the walls hung paintings that varied in cubism to impressionism.

"Did you paint these?" He asked.

"No, I bought them from some local artists. Someone has to support them." She replied before a knock sounded at the door. "I wonder who that could be."

As she went to answer the door, Logan took a step closer to the culturally rich paintings. Ida's surprised shout captured his attention and he whirled around to see her embracing another woman who seemed to be in her mid-thirties.

"What a pleasant surprise! I thought you lived out by Midtown now. Isn't that almost an hour away?" She asked.

"A little less than that, but you're worth the trip. And I was in town for work." The other woman replied.

"James, this is my granddaughter, June. She'll be joining us for dinner." The two of them exchanged an equally confused stare, each for their own reasons. Logan could hardly believe his eyes. June was a fairly common name, but the woman's ebony hair and heart-shaped face matched the photograph perfectly. His stomach turned as the implications of his situation dawned on him. June gave her grandmother a questioning, but concerned, stare.

"Did you invite him?"

Ida nodded. "He helped me fend off a few muggers."

"Did you now, James?" June asked as her rich brown eyes bore into his.

He pulled himself out of his brief shock and nodded. "I did, but you should have seen your grandmother. She sent one guy running like hell."

"I believe it." She grinned.

"I'm going to finish up dinner, it'll only take about two more minutes." Ida said as she made her way towards the kitchenette.

"Do you need any help?" June asked.

"Hun, you just rest. There's not much left to help with, anyway." Ida called. June turned back to Logan, squared her shoulders, and walked over to him.

"Alright, what do you want from her?" She demanded.

Logan raised his hands in defense. "I don't want anything; I swear. Your grandmother insisted I join her for dinner after helping her out. That's all."

June inspected him with drawn eyebrows before pointing a finger at him. "I'll buy your story for now. But if you _ever_ try to hurt her, you'll find yourself six feet under the ground and no one will find you. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," he replied. Without another word, she walked towards the small kitchen. Logan followed her and began to help set the mahogany table. Once they were all seated, Ida said grace and they began to serve themselves. While Ida and June started a conversation, Logan's mind was preoccupied with the current situation at hand. Here he was, casually dining with his target, who so happened to be the granddaughter of his downstairs neighbor. The very same neighbor whose life he saved the other day. While he was unable to shake the tightness growing in his chest, he couldn't help but enjoy the family dinner he was partaking in. The normalcy of the moment was unfamiliar. The hand that he had been dealt in life made these experiences far and few between. He hadn't felt this sense of community since he was deployed in Vietnam, and before that when he and Lawrence had been roommates after the Korean War. Dining with Ida and June reminded him how he missed the comradery he'd once shared with others. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury to fully enjoy the evening. There was a deadline that he had to meet, and he had to figure out how to discreetly let June know he was her contact while he could. Logan's thoughts were interrupted when Ida finally addressed him.

"You know, James, I don't think I've asked what you do for a living."

"I work as a temp, so I fill in a variety of positions depending on the job." He answered as he forced a small smile. "I was actually supposed to meet someone the other day for a government related position, but I couldn't make it." He glanced up at June and locked eyes with her for a brief moment.

"What a coincidence! June works for the government, too. Maybe she can put in a good word for you."

"Gram, there are many different government agencies and bureaus. It's highly unlikely that he's temping for the same thing that I do."

"She's right, the position I applied for merely dealt with securing and delivering classified information." He said. By now, he could tell that she had connected the dots.

"If that's the case, perhaps your temp job is in fact connected to my field of work." She replied. "Do you have a resumé put together?"

"I don't." He replied, catching her drift.

"That's fine, I can help you build one. Let's meet at the corner diner tomorrow at noon."

"Works for me."

"June has excellent writing skills! I doubt anyone will turn you down once she's put something together." Ida added.

She smiled at her. "Gram, you're too kind."

"It's the truth." Their interaction made Logan smile. June and Ida were clearly close. If he was reading them right, Ida was like a mother to her. When Logan finished his meal, he stood and stacked June and Ida's empty dishes onto his own.

"You're a guest, James. Let me do that." Ida insisted.

"It's the least I can do after the wonderful meal you made." He took them to the sink and began to wash them. "When Lawrence and I shared a flat, we had a rule that the cook shouldn't end up with the dishes."

"I think I like that rule!"

"I'm surprised that you even know how to wash dishes." June quipped.

"It's one of my many talents." He replied sarcastically.

"While you're taking care of the dishes I'm going to watch the news." Ida chuckled as she left the small kitchen. June waited until she heard the television come to life in the other room before walking over to Logan. She leaned against the off-white laminate countertop to his left where Logan sensed her trying to read him.

He paused washing the dishes to return her stare. "What?"

"How did you know that I was the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent you were supposed to meet yesterday?" She asked. The question took him off guard and he tried to think of a credible answer. Much to his dismay, he couldn't think of one at the moment.

"Can't we talk about this tomorrow?" He asked as he began washing the cutlery.

"No, I want to know that I can trust you."

"Word to the wise, you really shouldn't trust anyone. Especially as someone in your line of work."

"Please, I'm not naïve. You're trying to avoid the question."

She had hit the nail on the head, but Logan couldn't let her know that. "Look, I'll tell you everything tomorrow. It's been a long day."

"Right," June picked up a dish towel and began drying some dishes, "let's see if you'll answer this question instead. What was it like fighting in the Second World War, James? Or should I call you Logan? Unless, you actually prefer being called the Wolverine." The string of questions startled Logan and his hand slipped on the knife he was washing. The knife sliced deep into his palm and he swore. A smug grin pulled at June's lips and she crossed her arms, intently watching his skin heal. Logan turned to face her, his anger flaring.

"How the fuck do you know about that?" He snapped quietly.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't oblivious to your existence. Although what you're doing with it as of late, we're not too sure of." She replied nonchalantly. "I've studied your file before, so I recognized you the second I stepped through the door. Although, I didn't think the Wolverine, of all people, would be my contact."

"What else do you know?"

"Hm, I think we should talk about this tomorrow. It's been a long day." She replied, mimicking his reply from earlier. He clenched and unclenched his fists, suddenly feeling cornered and vulnerable. The only mild comfort he could find was that it sounded like she didn't know about his true 'profession'.

"Are you two done with those dishes yet? Last time I checked, we didn't feed the whole apartment." Ida called from the living room. June flashed a smile at Logan before she joined her grandmother in the living room. He glared at her and then cleaned up the remaining blood in the sink and what remained of the dishes. Logan placed the dishes on the drying rack and then headed towards the door.

"As much as I'd love to stay Ida, I've got some errands that I need to get done. Thanks for dinner." He said.

"Of course, have a good night James."

"You too," Logan exited the unit and descended the steps two at a time. His breathing quickened as he exited the stairwell. A weight suddenly made itself at home on his chest and he found himself unable to shake it. Its icy grip caused his heart to stutter and all at once he was both hot and cold. He arrived at Lawrence's door and knocked loudly. As he waited, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on slowing his breathing. He heard the door swing open and reopened his eyes. Lawrence took one look at Logan's expression and immediately recognized that something wasn't right.

"What's the matter?"

"Do you have a minute?"

His eyes looked him over before he stepped aside. "Looks like you need more than just a minute." Logan thanked him and entered the dimly lit flat. Lawrence closed and bolted the door before walking over to where he was now standing. Logan simply stared out the window for a minute. His arms were crossed over his chest and his chin rested on his fist.

"Did tonight's dinner not go well?" Lawrence asked. When he didn't respond, he cupped a hand over his mouth. "Earth to Logan, come in Logan, over."

"I need to come clean about the latest job I accepted." He finally said as he turned away from the window. His friend's amusement from his own joke faded. "I was hired to off someone."

"Not something I'd condone but go on."

"I found out tonight that the target is Ida's granddaughter, June."

The color drained from Lawrence's face and he swallowed. "You're not going to kill her, are you?"

"I don't know yet, but she works for a government agency that knows about me." He replied. Lawrence slowly took a seat on his teal mid-century couch as Logan watched the weight of his words sink in.

"What…what do you mean they know about you?"

"They know that I'm a mutant, that I go by Logan, and that I fought in the Second World War before working with Team X. Other than that, I'm not sure. They have a whole file on me."

"I—I don't know how to get you out of this one Logan." Lawrence let out a shaky sigh as he ran a hand through his sandy hair. "You need to get out of here, go back to Canada, and start over."

"I can't, not while I have unfinished business with Carlisle." Logan took a seat beside him. "I meet with June tomorrow at noon. As far as I know, she thinks I'm only passing information about the adamantium that I transported two days ago."

"What the hell is adamantium?"

"One of the strongest metals in the world, apparently. It was in that briefcase that ran for twenty grand."

"Right,"

Logan closed his eyes and sank into the couch. The two of them sat in silence and he waited for Lawrence to lecture him. To his surprise, the lecture never came. He then recalled why he had maintained a strong friendship with him after the landmine incident in Korea. While Lawrence wasn't afraid to challenge him, he was also sympathetic and knew when to hold his tongue. Logan knew the latter about him from the start when he had promised to take his secret to the grave. The sound of the television turning on brought his mind back to the present and he opened his eyes. He chuckled when he recognized the show as _Hogan's Heroes_.

"Man, I haven't watched this since I first came back from Vietnam."

"I thought you could use a laugh or two right about now." Lawrence smiled as he turned the volume up.

He sighed and looked over at him, the light of the television flickering against his sharp features. In his opinion, he didn't deserve Lawrence's friendship and loyalty. It blew his mind how despite his rough edges and outbursts, his friend was still willing to take the time to comfort him. Guilt gnawed at him as he reflected on his reckless and hurtful behavior since returning to the states.

"I'm sorry for how I've been acting towards you since I came back. I've been a complete ass." Logan said after a while.

"You haven't really talked about what you witnessed over there, but I know that Korea was hell for both of us. From what I've seen on the news, and what little you've told me, Vietnam wasn't much better." He paused. "I also know I don't need to tell you how right I was about this mercenary gig of yours. Regardless, I sincerely hope that this all gets sorted out somehow. You're welcome to crash here for the night."

"Thanks, Lawrence."

"That's what friends are for."

Friends. Hearing the word coming from his mouth was reassuring. Oftentimes, he wondered if Lawrence valued their friendship as much as he did. Moments like this helped quiet the doubts that tried to convince him otherwise.

It wasn't long before Logan had fallen asleep on the couch. His soft snoring reached Lawrence's ears and soon after he noticed a weight on his shoulder. Looking down, he saw Logan's head pillowed on his shoulder. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was rare to see this side of his friend. Logan wore a tough almost impenetrable façade, but Lawrence had learned over the years that while deeply hidden, there was a softer side to him. A part of him wished he could see more of this side of Logan. A man who wasn't so stoic and hesitant to reveal what lay beneath the surface. Lawrence knew that while Logan had let him in, there was still an iron curtain that kept him from understanding more of who he was and what he had been through.

After a while, he turned off the television and briefly considered staying by his side the rest of the night. Perhaps some company would help him sleep easy. Yet thinking back to his previous experiences, he decided against it. In the past, Logan had abused barbiturates to relieve his flashbacks and nightmares. His relapse gave every indication that he was suffering from them once again. Lawrence knew firsthand how volatile and violent they could make him, and he concluded it would be unwise to stay by his side. He scooted forward and as he eased his shoulder free, he guided Logan down with gentle hands as he slumped to his side, filling the space behind him. Being careful not to wake his sleeping friend, he slowly rose from where he was sitting and retired to his bedroom for the night.


	3. Duplicity

Logan wiped the dripping sweat from his brow as he trod lightly through the lush forest. The humidity was almost suffocating, and the shade provided by the forest was a small mercy. He examined the canopy above them. There were no birds to be seen nor heard, and even the whispers of insects were barely audible. He paused, adjusting his grip on the M2 Carbine in his hands. Something wasn't right. He glanced at Lawrence who was standing to his right and saw that he had done the same. Just shy of seven feet away their point man, McKay, had stopped and signaled for them to stand back. Logan held his breath and scanned the forest.

"It's too quiet." His soft whisper sounded like thunder to his own ears. Lawrence nodded, clearly on edge. While he'd hardly known the man for more than three months, he could read him like an open book. Logan's stare flicked over to where McKay was standing. As he took a step forward, Logan's eyes widened as he saw the faint outline of a landmine. He only had a split second to react. With a cold and quick calculation, he realized that there was nothing he could do for McKay. The mine hadn't detonated, but in Logan's mind he was already gone. Without hesitation, he turned to his right and shoved Lawrence to the ground. He landed hard on the grass with a grunt and Logan swiftly covered his body with his own. A deafening explosion quickly followed suit and Lawrence immediately curled into a ball beneath him. Black smoke filled the air in thick clouds. Logan's ears rang from the blast and the copper smell of blood and gunpowder assaulted his senses. As the moment passed, the searing pain set in from the shrapnel that had sunk into his back. He grimaced as he lifted himself high enough off the ground to let Lawrence slide out from underneath him. Both of them coughed from the sooty air.

"James? Are you okay?" He asked. His eyes were red from the smoke and his fear mixed with the other smells that lingered in the air.

"I'll be fine." He groaned as he remained doubled over in pain.

"We need to get you back ASAP, you're seriously injured! Your back is…it's…"

"I said I'll be fine, now just give me a damn minute!" He snapped. Lawrence's eyes settled on the broken flesh that had been exposed by Logan's torn shirt. After a closer look, his jaw dropped as he realized that his body was healing and working out the lodged pieces of metal.

"Holy shit, you're one of them. You're a mutant."

As his back finished healing, Logan sat up and locked eyes with him. "If you tell them I swear—"

"Tell them?" Lawrence looked offended by the suggestion. "Who says I'm telling anyone? You saved my life. I owe it to you to take your secret with me to the grave."

Logan eyed him, his brow furrowed in confusion. Despite his currently overloaded senses, he could still tell that the man in front of him was telling the truth. "You'd really do that?"

Lawrence nodded as he rose to his feet and offered him a hand up. "As much as I'd like to ask you a million questions, we've got to get out of here. There's no doubt they heard that explosion."

He took his hand and then glanced at McKay's remains. "Stay here." Watching his step, he cautiously went over to what was left of the corpse and retrieved the dog tags. As the ringing in his ears began to cease, he heard the sound of faint footsteps in the distance. He swore under his breath and turned back to Lawrence.

"We've got to go now!" He ordered. The sound of gunfire followed, and they began to run. As they ran, the trees began to change into towering buildings and Logan slowed to a stop. They were suddenly in an alley, their army uniforms replaced by civvies. Lawrence stopped and turned to face him. He was saying something, but Logan couldn't hear him. Confused, he began to walk towards his friend. A single gunshot rang through the alley, a different caliber this time and semi-automatic. He flinched before stopping dead in his tracks. Lawrence dropped to the ground, blood pooling on the asphalt below him. Every part of him wanted to run to his friend, but it was as if he was frozen in place. All he could do was gape at the sight.

"I warned you about double-crossing me." Carlisle said as he appeared in front of him. He then raised his pistol at Logan, who clenched his fists and released a feral snarl.

The sound of an air horn jerked Logan out of his dream. He jolted upright, fists flying up into a guard position with a sharp _snikt_. His eyes darted around the room, partly searching for Carlisle as he tried to understand where he was. His damp shirt clung to his body and the pounding of his heart thrummed through his head. A moment later he realized that he was no longer in the horrific dream but instead in a familiar apartment. Logan stared at his clenched fists. The bony protrusions had extended on their own, his instinct taking over before he could even think. With a shaky breath, he sheathed his claws.

"That was quite a nightmare." Lawrence said. His voice startled him, and he whipped his head around to see him standing back at a safe distance. He set the air horn down on a nearby shelf and Logan recognized it from when he used to live with him. "When did they start coming back?"

He rested his sweat drenched brow in his hand and focused on slowing his breathing. "They never left."

"That's why you take the barbiturates, isn't it?" When Logan didn't respond, he continued. "Was your nightmare about what happened last night?"

"Yes and no," he looked up at him, "listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do but I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"I figured you'd say that." he replied as he walked back into the kitchen. It was then that Logan noticed the smell of something burning combined with instant coffee and the sound of it percolating. He watched Lawrence pop the toaster and toss a charred bagel into the trashcan.

"Sorry about your bagel."

"It's only a bagel, I'm just glad you didn't gut the couch." He replied with one of his carefree grins. "Nice bedhead by the way."

Logan rolled his eyes and smoothed his disheveled hair by running his hand through it. "What time is it?"

"Ten in the morning,"

"I need to get going." He sighed as he rose to his feet and stretched.

Lawrence cringed as he heard his joints pop. "You're going to tell me how it goes, right?"

"Sure, but if you don't hear from me by tomorrow assume that I'm dead, or worse."

"That's not funny." He huffed.

"I wasn't trying to be." He closed the door after him and ascended the steps until he reached the fourth floor. He then entered his apartment and discarded his clothes before heading for the shower. Knowing that he had an hour or so to get ready, he took his time and simply stood under the showerhead and closed his eyes. The relaxing sensation of the warm water hitting his skin helped wash away the remnants of his nightmare. He sighed as the vivid images of his dream eventually faded. He would need to play his cards right if he wanted to avoid the horrific scenario he'd dreamt of. It wasn't going to be easy, but it was possible.

He shut off the water, styled his hair back, and dressed himself in a patterned button-up and jeans. As he rolled up his sleeves, he glanced at his watch. Shrugging on his leather jacket, he exited his flat and went down the stairs. The sky was overcast, and an autumn breeze greeted him as he stepped outside. He strode down the sidewalk where he passed a man in a wheelchair. The man, who Logan assumed to be homeless, had a ragged appearance and was holding a sign that read 'Vietnam vet, please help'. He paused, pulled two fifties from his jacket, and handed them to the man. A familiar twinge of guilt ran through his chest as the man thanked him profusely and accepted the cash. His mutant abilities were both a blessing and a curse, but he was convinced it was mostly the latter. There was no question that he would've been in the same predicament without his healing factor. Giving the stranger some change to help him survive a life he didn't ask for was the least he could do. The veteran thanked him, and Logan gave him a respectful nod before he continued walking.

The diner, also known as Tom's, was only three blocks away and it didn't take long for him to reach it. Logan pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the small, but crowded, restaurant. He searched the diner for June and found her sitting in a booth closer to the back. Her eyes flicked up from the menu in her hands and she waved him over. He hesitated as he checked his surroundings for anything, or anyone, suspicious. To say Logan's trust wasn't easily earned was an understatement, and his exchange with June from the day before had him more on edge than usual. There was no way to tell where her knowledge of his past started and where it ended. Once he was satisfied that there was no threat, he walked over and took a seat across from her.

"Look, Logan, before we get into this I want to clarify that my intention isn't to turn your life upside down. You've got to understand that I've received too many death threats to even count. There are people who want me dead for a number of reasons, and I have no choice but to be extra careful." She held out her hand. "Mind if we start over?"

He narrowed his eyes and stared at her hand before finally shaking it.

"However," she held up a single finger, "my threat from yesterday still stands if you make one wrong move."

"That's fair." He replied. "Although if you find out how to kill me for good, let me know."

She ignored his comment and picked up her menu. "Are you going to order anything?"

"Do they serve alcohol?"

She squinted at him. "No,"

"That's a damn shame." He sighed as he read through the breakfast options.

"Guess I'll have to add that to your file."

"Add what?"

"Alcoholic," she grinned. He glared at her in response as he turned over his coffee mug. A waitress with voluminous, brown curls came over and they gave her their orders. She then poured some coffee in Logan's mug before helping another table.

"So, how'd you come across the adamantium that's been going around." June asked.

"I was at a bar when some drunk started to brag about the money he'd made on a job. Said someone paid him twenty grand. Of course, that caught my attention and after smooth talkin' the guy a bit to boost his ego, he told me every little detail he knew."

"Why were you interested? I know you didn't do it out of the goodness of your heart."

"Twenty grand isn't chump change. I wanted to know how he earned so much in one night."

"Who's buying?"

"The guy said he wasn't given the name of the client."

"I don't believe that." June replied as she crossed her arms.

"Listen, that's how these things work. You do the job and get paid; the rest is irrelevant."

"Alright, so who employed him?"

Logan covered his hesitation by taking a sip of his coffee. To get her to trust him, he concluded that he had to give her at least a kernel of truth. "Carlisle."

June leaned forward, her eyebrows knit tightly together. "That lousy bastard is involved in all this?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself." He replied. "The guy said that another deal may happen again this week." The waitress brought over their food and Logan realized how hungry he was. While he ate, June was deep in thought. Her eyes then lit up and the wide smile that graced her lips made Logan suspicious.

"That's it! We'll have _you_ deliver the adamantium so we can get some answers."

Logan almost choked on his food as his fork clattered onto the plate. " _What_?"

"Come on, you did worse things in the early 60s. This should be a walk in the park for you." June scoffed.

"First of all, that was with Team X. Second, what's in it for me?"

June shrugged. "I could redact sensitive information from your files."

He considered the tempting offer as he chewed his food. "If I'm going to do this, I need to see those files first."

"I figured I'd need them as an incentive, so I brought them with me. Although I'm sure we can both agree that here is not the best place to look them over." She said as she began to enjoy her meal. He nodded and then stared at his half-finished omelet. The implications of possibly agreeing to be a double agent made him lose his appetite. Carlisle was just one man, but he had eyes and ears all over New York. There was no telling what would happen if word of this reached him. Without warning, a tightness settled in his chest and disrupted the rhythm of his breathing. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. June stopped eating the eggs on her plate and watched him with concern.

"Logan? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He replied firmly, and maybe a little too quickly, as he gave her a look.

She wasn't convinced. "Have you seen anyone about what you're going through?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your PTSD, have you sought help?"

He glared at her. "I don't have PTSD."

"I think you do, and you know it. The anger and irritability? The anxiety? You're trying to use alcohol to cope, but it's not working." Her gentle and sincere tone threw him off.

"Maybe I'm just an asshole who likes his liquor, have you considered that?" He retorted.

"Trust me, I did. But according to your file, you've been in three horrific wars."

"Four," he corrected, "I've been in four."

"Exactly my point. Have you even talked to anyone about them and what you saw? The horrific things you experienced?" She asked. Logan picked up his fork and toyed with the omelet on his plate.

"I have a friend who was in the same platoon during Korea." He finally replied.

"But have you _talked_ about it?" She insisted as she resumed eating her meal.

He felt his fist clench on its own, a bad habit of his. Or just animal instincts, really. A fight or flight response. Logan could feel his frustration escalating, and he couldn't tell if it was directed towards her or himself. "Why the hell do you care? Yesterday you were threatening me, and now you're worried about my mental health?"

Her warm, brown eyes met his. "Let me tell you something about my grandmother. She's seen and been through a lot. For as long as I can remember, she's had an incredible knack for reading people. In fact, she could've been a great agent for S.H.I.E.L.D., but as a woman of color that wasn't going to happen during her time. Logan, she had every reason in the damn book to avoid you. Yet, she chose to bake you a batch of cookies and then invited you over for dinner. She sees something in you, and that's enough of a reason for me to look past your unpleasant façade."

Logan remained silent. He had hardly known this woman for a day and she was already able to see through most of him. Her skill and tact were disarming, and he wasn't sure if it was the PTSD that made him more transparent, or if she was simply as talented as her grandmother was at reading people. Granted, she had a whole file on him to help her, but it was obvious that there were a few personal details of his that she had worked out herself. He drank the rest of his coffee, debating on what to say next and how much information he should give her.

"Be careful who you trust at work, June."

"Why? What do you know?" She asked.

"Remember that guy at the bar that I mentioned?"

"The one that you sweet-talked?"

"Smooth-talked." He corrected with narrowed eyes. "He mentioned that you have a rat infestation, if you catch my drift."

She leaned back against the booth and took a moment to soak in the new information. "Did he mention any names?" Logan shook his head and she sighed. "One last question, how did you know that I was the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent you were supposed to meet?"

"How did I know?" He stalled by forcing himself to take a bite of his omelet. As he chewed, he quickly racked his brain for something believable. "The agent who told you about me was at that same bar. Originally, he had planned to talk to the guy himself, but I got in the way. He talked with me afterwards and convinced me to relay the information I'd gathered to you. He gave me your name and showed me a photo of you." Much to his relief, she seemed satisfied with his answer. Logan set his silverware down and the waitress came back and picked up the dishes. He signaled to her that he had the check before she left their table.

"You really don't have to do that." June said.

"Old habits die hard." He replied.

She eyed him. "When you say old, how old are we talking? With your regenerative ability, you don't look a day over thirty."

Logan raised an eyebrow but decided to humor her. "I'm almost ninety."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, mulled it over, and then shrugged to herself. "Makes sense."

"Thanks," he huffed sarcastically. The waitress came over with the tab and he handed her enough cash to cover it with a sufficient tip. "Let's get outta here."

He slid out of the booth and June shouldered her purse as she followed suit. When he stepped outside, he noticed that the skies had started to clear. The turning leaves rustled against each other and Ida zipped up her coat as she came up beside him.

"I take it you walked here?" She asked.

"Yep,"

"Is it alright if I walk back with you? I parked my car by your apartment complex."

He nodded, and they began to walk down the street. Logan's eyes caught an alleyway up ahead and he frowned, remembering the agreement he had made with Carlisle. His words from two days ago replayed in his mind as the images from his nightmare resurfaced. The alley drew nearer, and its shadows called to the worst parts of him, drawing him closer. In the back of his mind, dark thoughts insisted that this would be his only chance to fulfill his task. It was now or never. As they came upon the alley, Logan stopped.

"Mind if we take a shortcut?" He asked.

She hesitated, her eyes studying the alley before returning to him. "Not at all."

He began to walk between the two brick buildings, but after a few paces he realized she wasn't following him. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Are ya coming or not?"

She lingered at the edge of the alley for a moment before she nodded and walked over to his side. "Sorry, I'm just used to avoiding alleyways."

The farther they walked down the alley, the more his heartrate increased. He kept his eyes fixed on the light at the other end, trying to muster up the motivation to follow through. However, his hands were like two cement blocks inside his jacket pockets. Part of his mind screamed for him act now and to get it over with. Another pleaded for him to disregard Carlisle. He rolled his shoulders and scowled, frustrated by his conflicting feelings. He didn't understand why he was having so much difficulty with this assignment. Other than the tail end of his time with Team X, he had never experienced such an internal dichotomy. It was a battle between his instincts and ideals, self-preservation against moral principles. The end of the alley was approaching quicker than he liked, and he took in a steadying breath. All he had to do was stab her once. A mere slice of the carotid or axillary artery would be enough. If he chose not to, he would be accepting his role as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s double-agent while risking the safety of both himself and Lawrence. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and made a decision.

June glanced at him. She could sense the change in his demeanor and she fidgeted with the sleeve of her coat. "Logan? Are you alright?"

"Peachy," he replied dryly. Logan opened his eyes again as they emerged from the alley and stepped out into the open. He sighed, accepting the choice he had made. There would be no turning back from this point. The rest of the walk to the apartment complex was no more than a blur to him, his mind swimming with the implications of his choice. As they neared the entrance of the apartment, he was pulled back into the present when June rested her hand on his arm. Logan looked down at her hand and couldn't help but notice how small it looked compared to his forearm.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay with taking that job? You've been off ever since we left the diner."

His gaze flicked up to hers, noticing the sincerity in her eyes, and nodded. "I'm your best bet at tracking down the adamantium."

"That doesn't mean you're obligated to help. You're not an agent."

"I can handle it."

"Do you even know where to find Carlisle?" She asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get the job." He insisted. "However, I do want to see those files first." June nodded, and they entered the apartment lobby.

They reached his apartment and he unlocked the door. She walked in after him and assessed the unit. The few furnishings that he had were clearly secondhand and the walls were bare. From what she gathered, he had either just moved in or didn't care for aesthetics. She took off her coat and draped it over the couch. "Did you move into this unit recently?" She asked, deciding to err on the side of caution.

Logan paused clearing his small dining table and cocked an eyebrow. "I've been here for almost a year."

"Oh," she scratched her arm, "sorry." June walked over to Logan and set her purse on the table. She pulled out a manila folder and placed it in front of him. The papers stacked inside the file were about half an inch thick altogether.

"Is this all there is?" He asked as he discarded his jacket and hung it on the chair beside him.

"You sound surprised."

"I thought it would be thicker."

"Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. has barely been around for thirty years. Did you really think they'd have your whole life story?"

He shrugged. "I usually expect the worst." Logan took a deep breath and saw that the file was labeled as 'James (Logan) Howlett, The Wolverine'. He opened the folder to the first page that had a brief description of him with a photo. Most of the details, such as his date of birth, were left blank. His eyes settled on the photo of him and he swallowed. It was a monochromatic picture of him in his World War Two uniform. He was smiling with a cigar in one hand and playing cards in the other. His fingers traced along the space outside of the photo, noticing how the two other soldiers who had been playing Rummy with him had been cropped out. He lingered on the page. The two troops, brothers who went by Giles and Ryan, had been close friends of his. He had watched their service, as well as their lives, come to a violent end while storming Juno Beach on D-Day. The memory of that day and its grisly details resurfaced without warning. In his mind, he could hear the sound of whizzing bullets and the crump of mortar all too clearly. Logan cleared his throat and quickly turned the page with a trembling hand.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied as he scanned the next page. June crossed her arms but let it go.

The more Logan read, the more he realized how little S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about him. They had been able to record the bigger moments in his life, but the finer details were lacking. When he reached the entry regarding his involvement in the Korean War, he was relieved to find no mention of Lawrence.

"See anything you'd like blacked out?" she asked.

"I haven't decided yet, but you're missing something." He replied as he pointed to the page that documented his time with Team X. The way it was written was ignorant at best, assuming the worst of mutants rather than acknowledging the corruption of the people who had started it.

"And what would that be?"

"Team X wasn't just a group of mutants out for blood that the government kept on a leash. It was the CIA's special black ops team and they wiped our memories after each mission, sometimes implanting new ones."

"That's awful, I thought it was a group you all joined voluntarily."

"It was, but they manipulated us." He squinted at a picture of a short-haired man in a military uniform. Logan guessed that he was in his late twenties and the cold smirk captured in the photo made his skin crawl. Beside it was another photo of a bald man with glasses who gave him the same disturbing vibe. "Who are these men?"

"William Stryker and Truett Hudson, aka Professor Thorton. There's some circumstantial evidence that connects them with Team X as well as the adamantium dealing we've been trying to track. Do you recognize either of them?"

Logan knitted his eyebrows together, tilted his head, and held the loose page closer. "I don't know." As a matter of fact, he couldn't trust his memories from that time. With all the mind wiping, he had lost track of what was true and what wasn't. Usually, he erred on the side of caution by only trusting memories that involved Lawrence during his years spent with Team X. Since no one affiliated with Team X knew he existed, Logan could trust that those memories had been left untampered. A familiar knock sounded at his door, disrupting his concentration.

"Door's unlocked," he called.

June raised her eyebrows. "You sure you want someone waltzing in here with these clandestine files out on display?"

"It's just Lawrence. What he knows would make these files look like a lousy CliffNotes summary." He assured. Lawrence entered the apartment and froze when he saw the two of them. His gaze flicked from Logan, to June, and then back to Logan. He then saw the papers spread out on the table and he ruffled his hair, a nervous habit of his.

"Care to explain what's going on, Logan?" He prompted tersely as he eyed June.

"Long story short, I'm helping June find out who's collecting the adamantium and where. In exchange, she's letting me erase sensitive information that S.H.I.E.L.D. has on me." He replied. Lawrence rubbed his face as he slowly exhaled. Logan could see the gears turning hard in his friend's head. He knew Lawrence was smart enough to connect the dots, and he didn't have to be a mind reader to know he had a dozen questions that he wanted to ask.

"Oh," he finally said. He then walked over to the table and held out his hand to June. "I'm Lawrence, by the way."

"June," she replied as she shook his hand. "How do you know Logan?"

"We were in the same platoon during the Korean War." He then picked up the stack of pages that Logan had finished reading. "Hey, this is a really good picture of you! I don't think I've seen you smile like this in years."

Logan ignored him as he finished reading the last page. His narrowed eyes flicked up to June. "This is bullshit."

"Excuse me?" She huffed.

He tossed the stack of papers onto the table and pulled a cigar from his pocket. "There's nothing worth redacting here. Sure, you know the agencies I've worked with, but nothing remotely jeopardizing." He lit his cigar, locking eyes with her. Of course, he was lying. He was simply laying out bait in hopes that she would bite. The fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. even had this much information about him was chilling. Everything he had worked for in order to preserve his secret was at their mercy. This was his chance to turn the tables.

"What are you saying?"

"I need a bigger incentive than just the crossing out of one or two paragraphs worth of information." He took a puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke. "I know where Carlisle is, and I can get that job. Hell, I'll lead you right to the men buying the adamantium. But only if I can keep every single page in this file."

"Wait, how do you know where Carlisle is?" She asked, her hands resting on her hips.

"I have my sources. Do we have a deal or not?"

She studied him with a wary expression. June had every right to be suspicious of him, but he knew his offer was too good for her to refuse. "Fine, I'll play your game, but only because this adamantium problem is bigger than you."

"I also want the original copy of this file. I know you've been doing this for a while and that you know better than to bring the original with you."

She took a deep breath through her nose and narrowed her eyes. "You're asking for a lot."

"You think asking me to get involved with Carlisle isn't?" He scoffed.

"I'll give you the original file, but only _after_ you've completed the job and we have the intel we need." She took out a pen and a business card from her purse. She wrote down a number on the back of the card and handed it to him. "Here's my number. Call me when you have the details of where and when you'll be delivering the adamantium. You may be a pain in the ass, but we'll make sure your back is covered."

Logan pocketed the card. "Thanks,"

"I expect a call in forty-eight hours." She said, jabbing a finger into his chest. She then collected her belongings and nodded at Lawrence. "It was a pleasure meeting you." He returned the nod and she exited the apartment. The two of them waited in silence for a few minutes to make sure she was no longer within hearing distance.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lawrence demanded with wide eyes.

Logan took a seat and massaged his temple. "It's exactly what it looks like. You're smart, figure it out."

"You're seriously going to double-cross the one guy who has the city in the palm of his hand?"

"I couldn't just kill her!" He snapped as he withdrew his hand.

"For Pete's sake," Lawrence sat beside him and rested his head in his hands. "I'm not advocating for you to continue your gig with Carlisle, but to do something like this is completely insane! I mean, sure he can't kill you, but he could definitely keep you at the bottom of some river where we'll never find you."

"Would ya calm down? I'm only going to take the job, and then lead S.H.I.E.L.D. to the people buying the adamantium. Simple as that."

Lawrence lifted his head from his hands and stared at him. "And what will you tell Carlisle when he asks about June?"

He averted his eyes and continued to smoke his cigar.

"That's what I thought."

"I'll think of something." He grunted.

A thick silence settled between them. The click of a lighter caught Logan's attention and he looked over to find Lawrence lightly sucking on a cigarette as he held the flame to its end. After knowing him for ten years, he knew that his friend's smoking habit only showed when he was stressed. "You nervous?"

He let out a smoky gust of laughter as he put the lighter away. "Nervous? Nervous doesn't even begin to cover it. I swear you've added ten years on me."

Logan studied him as he took a long drag on his cigarette. Now that he had mentioned it, he could see the crow's feet that had begun to pull at the corners of his eyes and the stubble growing on his face was flecked with silver hairs. He scratched his beard and looked down at the papers spread out on the table. Seeing the paperwork in front of him put Lawrence's loyalty into perspective. After being around for almost a century, it was easy for him to forget the weight that two decades had on the average person. With a twinge of guilt, Logan knew his baggage only added to that weight. His hazel eyes shifted back to Lawrence who had pulled off his gray jumper and was currently rolling up the sleeves of his button-down.

"Why are you still friends with me?" Logan asked.

"You have a sparkling personality." He grinned.

"I'm serious."

He shrugged. "Someone has to keep you in check. I'm the only one who knows how _and_ enjoys your company."

He raised an eyebrow. "You actually enjoy my company?"

"Only when you're not trying to be an asshole." Lawrence replied. Despite the insult, his tone was light and Logan couldn't help but chuckle.

"Thanks,"

"Don't mention it." He picked up the page with Logan's photo and inspected it. "Say, is that Rummy you're playing?"

"Yeah, we had lost our dice and couldn't play Craps."

"Do you have some time to play a few rounds?"

A wry smile formed around his cigar. "I always have time to beat your ass in Rummy."

"You certainly talk big for someone who has the worst luck. I'll get the beer if you get the cards." He smirked as he left the table. Logan rolled his eyes and fetched a pack of cards from the shelf of the coffee table.

A few hours later, they decided to call it quits when Logan had gained the upper hand by default. After three beers, Lawrence could no longer read his cards and, in his drunkenness, claimed that Logan was using his healing factor to cheat.

"This is why we can't have anything nice, Logan. You're a walking curveball." He slurred as he threw down his cards.

He laughed. "You're drunk."

"What's ya fuckin' point?"

Logan tried to hide his amusement at the sudden thickness of Lawrence's accent. "Careful, your Brooklyn roots are showin'."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"I should've stopped you after your second beer. You're a damn lightweight and all the cigs you've smoked don't help." He said as he began to gather the cards. "I'm making you crash here for the night. You haven't been this drunk since our first night back from Korea, and I don't think it's a good idea to leave you alone."

He scrunched up his face. "Am I sleepin' on the couch? That thing is a cheap pain in the ass. You'd think with all that money in your pocket you'd buy some decent furniture."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes, " _I'll_ sleep on the couch and you can have the bed."

"You have a _queen_ , we could _both_ sleep on the bed. No need to be a martyr." He suggested.

"And risk slicing you open in the middle of the night? I think I'll pass. I'm fine with sleeping on the couch, I just need to get a few things first."

"Like your drugs?"

He gave him a warning look as he got up from the table. "Don't be a dick."

"Am I wrong?" Lawrence asked. He wasn't, but Logan ignored him anyway and went into his room to change. When he finished, he pocketed two capsules of the barbiturate and hid the bottle between the mattress and the bed frame. He stepped away and examined the bed to make sure it was hidden. Content with his work, he re-entered the living room and made his way over to his friend. Lawrence had begun to drift off and the corner of Logan's mouth pulled up in a grin at the sight. He picked him up with ease and Lawrence grunted in protest as he was lifted from the chair and brought into the other room.

Logan lowered him onto the bed and pulled the covers over him. "Night, Lawrence." He said as he turned off the light. He then left the room and dropped onto the couch where he pulled out the two capsules from his pocket. His eyes lingered on his open hand. The teal pills were hot in his palm and he glanced at his bedroom door. He swore under his breath and placed them on the table. With Lawrence being as drunk as he was in the other room, he couldn't take the chance of something going wrong while having the sedative in his system. Even if it was a low dose. Letting out a sigh, he laid down on the couch and closed his eyes.

However, as tired as he was, sleep never came for him. Between listening for Lawrence's even breathing to make sure he was fine and recounting all that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, he should have known sleep would be impossible. He tried nearly everything to calm his racing mind and he tossed and turned until it was three in the morning. Logan stared up at the ceiling. What had he gotten himself into? His reckless behavior wasn't anything new, but this was ridiculous even for him. With a huff, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He absentmindedly flipped through the channels until he stumbled upon _M*A*S*H_. He'd heard about the new show but had never been able to watch it. Then again, he didn't watch much TV in the first place. As the watched the show, his eyes would occasionally flit to his bedroom door and he'd mute the volume to make sure Lawrence was alright.

It wasn't until the sun was shining brightly through the shear curtains that he squinted at his watch. Reading that it was eight in the morning, he sat up and shut off the television. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and walked over to his bedroom door. He leaned against the doorframe and the corner of his mouth slid upwards in a half-smile. Lawrence's breathing was deep, and he had tucked one of his pillows underneath his arm. Being careful not to wake him, Logan changed into a black button-up and his jeans from the day before. He caught his reflection in a mirror and furrowed his brow. In all honesty, he looked like crap. Using his hands, he fixed his hair and used the shirt he slept in to wipe the oils off his face. Once his appearance was mildly presentable, he walked over to his table and shrugged on his jacket. The papers from yesterday were still strewn about its surface and he picked one up. Flipping it over, he used the pen that June had left and wrote a brief note to let Lawrence know he was going to visit Carlisle.

He breathed in the brisk November air as he exited the apartment complex and crossed the street to his parked car. The Mustang started with ease and he drove to Mike's bar where he knew he would find Carlisle. On the way there, he mulled over what he would say to him. His words had to be carefully chosen and precise in order to fool Carlisle. There was also the challenge of convincing him to let him transport more adamantium despite the fact that June was still alive. On the other hand, he could lie and claim that he had bumped her off. Although, while lying would be easier, it was undoubtedly riskier. If Carlisle found out, which was very likely, he would be out for blood. Telling the truth had its own risks, but there would certainly be less collateral damage.

He parked along the street and stepped into the bar. At this hour, Mike was the only person inside. He stopped buffing the counter and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You're earlier than usual."

"Couldn't sleep." Logan replied as he walked over.

"Fair enough, Carlisle is in there with someone else at the moment so you're gonna have to wait."

"Anyone important?" He asked.

Mike shrugged. "Not particularly, but he does have valuable information."

"I'm sure he won't mind me waiting inside."

"You can wait out here while they do business." He countered as he poured some whiskey into a glass and set it on the counter. "Come on, it's on the house."

Logan muttered under his breath but complied. He'd have to be either insane or dead to turn down a free drink. Taking a seat at the counter, he waited and nursed his glass. He rarely had to wait to speak to Carlisle. Normally, people waited for _him_ to finish. Sure, he had arrived unannounced, but normally that didn't matter. After all, he was known as his right-hand man. While the individual currently speaking with Carlisle wasn't necessarily important, he must have meant big money.

When he heard the door slide open, he turned and saw a dark-haired man enter the room. He breathed in his scent, catching a hint of something almost jarringly familiar. While there was the smell of printer ink and paper that hung on his clothes, it was the hint of gun oil and Kevlar that struck him as odd. A deep crease formed in his brow as the man straightened his tie. He soon noticed Logan's scrutinizing stare which caused him to jump ever so slightly. The micro expressions he noticed told him that the man was afraid of him, and the pounding of the stranger's heart betrayed the stony expression he used to mask it.

"What are _you_ looking at?" He threatened.

"Just keep walking, bub."

The stranger's eyebrows pulled together, and he took an aggressive step towards him. "You want to run that by me again?"

"Hey! What's wrong with you? There's no fighting in my bar, so just get the fuck out!" Mike snapped. The man kept his eyes locked with Logan's for a moment longer before he finally turned away.

Logan smirked. "Like I said, keep walking." The man scowled at him before shoving the door open and he stalked off. Mike shook a finger at Logan and leaned over the counter.

"What's the matter with you? If I have to, I'll kick you and your damn mouth out too."

"Don't worry, Mikey. I'll take him from here." The two of them turned to see Carlisle smiling in the doorway of his private room. He rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down and smoothed his blue vest. "James, you're just the man I wanted to see today. Come on in."

He gave Mike a tip despite the free drink before following Carlisle into his private room. Looking around, he noticed that the only other person in the paneled room was Frank. He exchanged a curt nod with him as the doors behind him were shut. His attention returned to Carlisle who stood in the center of the dim room.

"I hope you came here with some good news for me." He said as he removed a cigarette from a silver case. "Did you take care of that S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for my client?"

He locked eyes with Carlisle. From this moment on, his conversation would have to be played with the tact of a chess player if he wanted to stay under the radar. "She never showed."

Carlisle narrowed his eyes as he placed the cigarette in his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I looked up and down that whole damn street from four to nine, and there was no sign of her. I even searched Manhattan and Long Island the next day." He replied. Carlisle walked over to him, stopping when his face was just half a foot away. Logan knew better than to move despite the invasion of his personal space. This was all part of the game. Carlisle gestured to his unlit cigarette as his eyes bore into his. Swallowing his pride, Logan pulled his lighter from his pocket and held the flame to the cigarette's tip. With a smirk, he took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into his face. Logan wrinkled his nose as the foul, slow-moving cloud of smoke caressed his face.

"I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. They asked for the best, so I sent you. Yet, here you are empty handed."

"I didn't come here to throw in the towel."

"No? Then why did you come here?"

"I came to find out where I'm supposed to be for the next case of adamantium."

Carlisle's eyebrows lifted high and he let out a brittle laugh. "You're asking for another job when you haven't even completed the other? Do you take me for a fool? How do I know you're not a fucking rat?"

"I've pulled through on every job you've assigned. This S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is the outlier, not me." He countered. While he held his stony expression, his confidence in his cover story was starting to crumble. Carlisle had been in this business for nearly a decade, and there was a good chance that he would sniff out his duplicity.

His piercing eyes inspected Logan for a torturous amount of time. "I'm not convinced, but you have a point. I'll let you run that job tonight, but if you make one wrong move," he shrugged, "let's just say I'd hate for something…distasteful to happen to my favorite mercenary. Capisce?"

Logan gave a curt nod, refusing to give away the relief that washed over him.

"Good. Same time, same place. You'll pick up the briefcase at the same bar as last time in four hours." He stepped away and went over to his liquor tray that sat on a chestnut sideboard. "You have any close friends, Jimmy? People who you care about? People who you'd hate to see get hurt?"

Logan clenched his jaw as the blood drained from his face, the relief he felt quickly turning into alarm. "What do you think?"

"It seems to me that you prefer to be a lone wolf," he poured himself a shot of vodka, "but not everything is as it seems, is it?" A knock sounded on the door and Carlisle downed the liquor. "Now if you don't mind, I have other matters to attend to."

Frank's hand grabbed his shoulder and Logan shoved it away. "I can walk myself out."


	4. Thin Ice

Logan pushed the speed limit as he drove back to his apartment. He only had so much time to contact June before he had to retrieve the briefcase of adamantium. Not to mention, she also had to get a team together by tonight. He gripped the hair at the back of his head with one hand and tried taking in a deep, shaky breath. His fears were quickly becoming a reality. Carlisle knew about Lawrence and was more than willing to use that knowledge as leverage against him. He'd read newspaper articles describing bodies found dismembered, skinned, tortured to death, or worse by killers who were never found. Yet, it was no mystery who killed those people. The modus operandi was specific to the way crime boss' dealt with inconveniences, insubordinates, traitors, and liabilities. If Lawrence suffered a similar fate because of his actions, there would be nothing that could ever absolve Logan of the guilt that would follow.

The wheels of his Mustang screeched to a halt as he parked along the street. He slammed the door shut and ran into the apartment complex. He reached Lawrence's unit in no time and knocked. When no one answered, he swore under his breath and raced up the stairs to the fourth floor. He tried the doorknob to his own apartment and flung the door open when it gave. Lawrence jumped from where he was sitting at the table and he dropped the book that was in his hands. The sight of him still in one piece and unharmed had him overwhelmed with relief.

"Thank God," he sighed.

"What's going on, Logan?" He asked with wide eyes.

"We need to get you out of Brooklyn ASAP." He said as he strode over to his rotary phone.

"What? Why?"

Logan ignored him as he pulled June's business card out of his pocket and dialed the number. He held his breath as the line rang.

"Hello?"

"June, it's Logan."

"Are you alright? You sound more curt than usual."

"Listen, I need you to find a safe place for Lawrence to stay for the next forty-eight hours or so. I got the job, but Carlisle is suspicious. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"Just give me one second," the line was silent for a beat, "alright, go ahead."

"The place is along Newark Ave, just before the Turnpike. Take a right onto an unnamed side street and it'll lead you into a parking lot. If you pass James Avenue, you've gone too far." He instructed tersely.

"Wait, this exchange is in Jersey?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "No, it's in Montana. Yes, it's in Jersey!" He snapped.

"Geez, calm down! I'll try to get a team together." She paused, and he impatiently drummed his fingers against the waist-high bookcase. "Regarding Lawrence, S.H.I.E.L.D. has several safe houses in case of emergencies. Have him go to Tom's and I'll send an agent out there to drive him over to the place."

"Do me a favor and send a female agent. I doubt you've taken care of your rat problem in one day." He said. The more he thought about it, the more he felt in his gut that the man he encountered at Mike's was the S.H.I.E.L.D. rat. Even if he was wrong, he couldn't risk it on the off chance that he was right.

"Sure—wait, how do you know it's a male agent?" She asked, her tone dripping with suspicion.

He rubbed his forehead. "Call it a hunch. Just be at the rendezvous point before nine-thirty. And please tell your team to keep a low profile. The men buying this stuff weren't born yesterday."

"Logan wait, I swear if you hang—"

He returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Lawrence who had been studying him intently. He smoothed his dark hair and took a seat at the table. "An agent is going to meet you at Tom's and from there she'll take you someplace safe. Make sure it's a woman you're leaving with."

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I'm not sure how, but Carlisle knows about you. If he finds out what I've done, he'll kill you."

Lawrence removed his hand from his face and hit it against the table. "Fucking hell, Logan, what did I tell you? This has gotten out of control!"

"I know, I'm quitting after this."

He stared hard at him. "Quitting isn't going to fix everything overnight."

"I never said it would." He retorted.

"What do you expect me to do in the meantime? I've got an actual job! I can't just wait indefinitely for the dust to settle from the damage you've done." His tone was biting, and Logan could tell his reservoir of sympathy was running dangerously low. He couldn't really blame him though. As frustrated as Logan was, he knew he deserved every ounce of Lawrence's anger.

He felt his fists clench as he tried to control his own temper. "What else do you want me to do? I'm trying to do my best!"

"Your best? Don't you get it? I just want you to care." The bitterness in his expression was suddenly replaced with fatigue, a fatigue that looked so heavy he thought Lawrence would fall through the floor. "If you truly cared about the impact of your actions and heeded my warnings, we wouldn't be in this fucking mess."

He averted his eyes and massaged the back of his neck. "Lawrence, I—"

"Look, I'll go with the agent just…do what you gotta do." He huffed as he rose to his feet. Logan stood as he took a step forward and grabbed Lawrence's arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait, I better go with you."

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine." He scoffed. When he tried to rip his arm free, Logan tightened his grip.

"I'm going with you whether you like it or not." Their eyes locked and Lawrence knew he couldn't convince him otherwise. He'd seen that determined look before, and there was nothing that could deter Logan once he had his mind set on something. The two of them walked together to Lawrence's unit so that he could pack. As he gathered his things, Logan stood guard by the window. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that his friend had chosen to use his cargo bag from the Korean War. There was a sense of irony to it, but he wasn't in the right mindset to pinpoint why. Once he had enough packed for a few days, they left the apartment complex and hailed a taxi.

The cab they entered was stuffy with the smell of cigarette smoke and the silence that fell between them. Not even the hits from the last decade playing on the car's radio were able to break through the thick quiet that had settled in the cab. Logan told the cabbie where they needed to go and then glanced at Lawrence. A deep crease had set between his eyebrows and his gaze was fixed on the window. It wasn't uncommon for Lawrence to be angry with him. However, this rare quiet rage was enough evidence that he'd done more than just cross a line this time. He could even smell the anger that rolled off his friend in waves.

After what seemed like an eternity for a short trip, they pulled up to the restaurant and Logan paid the driver. Lawrence was quick to exit the cab with his cargo bag in hand and Logan followed suit shortly after, following him into the diner. The two of them sat down at a table and Logan took a seat across from Lawrence where he could keep an eye on the entrance. After scanning the bar for any threats, he studied his friend who continued to ignore him by staring at the pictures on the walls.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" He asked as he turned over both of their coffee mugs.

Lawrence refused to say a word as he picked up a menu.

"Look, I'm sorry okay? Now would you stop giving me the silent treatment?"

For the first time since they had left his apartment, Lawrence lifted his icy stare to meet his eyes. "You're full of shit."

He recoiled at the accusation. "Excuse me?"

"You're always sorry, but you can't be bothered to do anything about it."

He sighed. "That's going to change. It'll be different this time."

"Yeah, funny how my life being threatened was your wakeup call." He retorted.

"Dammit, Lawrence, would you cut me some slack? I'm trying my best to fix this!"

"If you had just listened to me in the first place there wouldn't be anything to fix!"

Logan took a deep breath through his nose before he ripped the menu out of his hands. "Look at me," he waited for him to do so before continuing, "I know I'm a fuck up. I've made your life more difficult than it should be and you don't deserve that. Just give me one day and I'll have this whole thing cleared up."

He sighed. "Logan, you're not a fuck up. Sure, you do dumb shit sometimes, but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful to have you as a friend. I just know you're capable of being so much more than Carlisle's puppet."

As a waitress came to pour them some coffee, he opened his mouth to argue otherwise but stopped. Lawrence was right. Whether he liked it or not, Carlisle had him in the palm of his hand. For months he had falsely believed the situation was under his control, that he could leave and pick up an honest life whenever he wanted. Recalling all the wreckage left in his wake made him realize how wrong he had been. All this time he'd been just an animal with a handler, never asking questions and always rising to the occasion. Unintentionally or not, he had returned to the life he once escaped. Logan rested his chin on his folded hands as his eyebrows knitted tightly together. There were only two possible routes to take in order to free himself from Carlisle's grasp. One, was that he could take things into his own hands and confront the crime boss himself. The other was to allow S.H.I.E.L.D., if not the feds, to do things their own bureaucratic way. The latter would surely be a lengthy process for a problem that needed an immediate solution. There was far too much red tape wrapped around this situation, and who knew how many feds Carlisle had on his side.

Lawrence observed him with a scrutinizing stare. "I've seen that look before. Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, don't." He said before he lifted his coffee mug to his lips.

"I'll be the one to decide that." Logan replied.

He eyed him. "You enjoy this, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a thrill that comes with this business you've gotten yourself into. I'd bet money you knew full well the risks associated with working for someone like Carlisle. Yet you still followed that path like a bloodhound on a fresh scent trail. You've fought in four wars, it's no wonder you'd do anything to disrupt the mundanity of civilian life." He said. "But when this is all over, I want to help you find an outlet that's more legal."

Logan snorted. "Let me know how that works out for ya."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the glint of the restaurant's door as it opened. His eyes flitted over to see a woman wearing a trench coat and knee-high boots. Her eyes scanned the diner as she loosened the geometric scarf around her neck. The smell of expensive perfume that reached his nose combined with her put-together appearance was a dead giveaway of her affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. Their eyes met, and her eyebrows lifted high in surprise. She glanced around once more before joining them at their table.

"June didn't tell me the Wolverine would be here too." She said. Lawrence gave him an incredulous look.

"The Wolverine?" He repeated, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Didn't know you had a nickname."

"Please, just call me James." Logan sighed as he massaged his temple.

"Right, sorry. I'm here to escort Lawrence to the safe house."

"Let me finish my coffee first." He said. "What's your name anyway?"

"Susan," she held out her hand, "you must be Lawrence."

Logan drank his coffee as he watched the two of them shake hands. "I take it you've read my file too?"

She nodded as she offered him a handshake. He opted to cross his arms instead and she drew back her hand. "I actually wrote part of it, but I have to ask. How do you two know each other?"

He narrowed his eyes and bristled. "What kind of a question is that?"

"What James means is that he doesn't want his whole life on record and at the disposal of some government agency." Lawrence interjected. "He may be a mutant, but he still has a right to privacy."

"Are you his attorney?"

"Something like that." He smirked before drinking the rest of his coffee. Logan chuckled and flagged the waitress down. When she came over he pulled out a ten and told her to keep the change.

"Ten dollars for fifty cents worth of coffee?" She asked.

"With a paygrade like yours, I don't expect you to understand." He said.

"This is going to be a long two days." Lawrence sighed. As he pushed his chair back to stand, Logan reached across the table and took hold of his arm to stop him. He then shifted his gaze to study Susan. "Have you ever spoken with Carlisle or worked for him?"

Her mouth parted, and her eyebrows drew together at the accusation. "Of course not!"

"One more question, does anyone besides June know where you're taking Lawrence?"

She shook her head, "no."

He watched her for a moment before letting go of Lawrence's arm. "She's telling the truth. Is there a number I can call, Susan? Just to check in with Lawrence later?"

She hesitated. "There is, but I'm not supposed to give it out."

"Come on, this is my friend we're talking about. Besides, do I really look like someone who can trace calls?" He grinned, playing up his charm.

"I guess not." She mused as she pulled a pen from her purse and wrote a number on a napkin.

"Thanks toots," he said as he pocketed the number. The two of them stood and Lawrence lingered for a moment as Susan made her way towards the entrance.

"Logan, whatever it is you're planning on doing, _please_ be careful." He said.

"No promises." He grinned. Lawrence rolled his eyes and he watched the two of them leave. Glancing at his watch, he stood and exited shortly after.

An uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu settled over him as he drove towards the West Side of Jersey City. The only difference was that the briefcase sitting in his passenger seat was larger and heavier than the first. That, and the fact that he was doing this for S.H.I.E.L.D. this time. He ran a hand over his bearded face. What happened tonight could unfold in a hundred different ways. Yet, partnered with his growing dread was a stark sense of calmness. Lawrence had hit the nail on the head back at the diner. The conflicting feelings were reminiscent of his days spent on the battlefield and he missed them, missed the moments of feeling truly alive despite living a life that seemed to never end. But wars didn't last forever, and working as a mercenary was an escape from the gray rerun of civilian life. While he felt guilty about the high he got from doing mercenary work, he reasoned that his skillset was worthless if he couldn't use it. This was his element, after all, and he thrived in it.

While stopped at a traffic light, he lit a cigar and cracked his window. To his left, the lights of Jersey City reflected against the rain clouds that had begun to gather. The smell of ozone that hung in the air confirmed the imminent rainstorm that encroached on the city. The sudden bright, green glow of the traffic light redirected his attention to the road and he turned right onto Newark Avenue. He took another right onto the unnamed road and as he pulled into the parking lot, he scanned his surroundings. Logan was relieved to find that June's team had done well in hiding themselves in plain sight. He was thoroughly impressed. Even with their presence, the lot still appeared almost as empty as it was the last time. The only remote sign of their existence was their scent. From what he could tell, there were four or five cars that were affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D. He puffed his cigar and glanced at his watch. Seeing he was thirty minutes early, he rolled his window down completely and rested his arm on the doorframe. The snap of a car door opening reached his ears and he looked over to see June walking over to him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? If they see you out here this whole thing is fucked." He hissed. She ignored his comment and handed him a cigar. He held it between his fingers and examined it. The cigar was a fake but could pass as real to anyone who wasn't a cigar aficionado. "What's this?"

"This is for communication purposes. It'll help us listen in without tipping them off." She replied.

His eyes flicked up from the cigar to meet hers. "Is this a joke?"

"No, it's a two-way radio." She quipped with a smile. "When you clench it between your teeth you'll be able to hear us via bone conduction."

"I just lit this one too." He muttered as he stubbed his cigar and tossed it onto the dash to save it later.

"Remember it's two-way, meaning we can hear you and you can hear us."

"This isn't my first time using spy shit."

"Never hurts to cover all bases." She countered. "Don't do anything rash, okay?"

"Likewise."

She rolled her eyes before returning to a parked vehicle to his left. He kept the fake cigar between his fingers for the time being. As he waited he soaked in the silence, the ominous stillness of the night being both comfortable and familiar. He checked his watch again and seeing that it was almost ten, placed the fake cigar in his mouth and rolled up his window.

"It's about time you put the damn thing in your mouth." He heard June say.

"You try keeping something that tastes like plastic and cardboard in your mouth."

He heard her chuckle on the other end. "At least it's better than the pipe they wanted to give you."

" _What_?"

"I know, I told them it didn't suit you." She said. "I've got sights on a vehicle heading our way, are you ready?"

Using his side mirror, he watched a familiar Blackhawk pull into the lot. He took hold of the briefcase and exited the car. "Let's get this over with."

The car pulled up beside him and the same men from last time stepped out. Alton gave Logan a nod as John and Nicky positioned themselves on either side of him.

"Long time no see." Alton smiled as he smoothed his blazer. "You know, for a moment I didn't think you'd show tonight."

"What does he mean by that?" June asked.

"Well, you thought wrong." Logan said, ignoring her.

"Clearly, now would you kindly hand over the adamantium?"

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Where's the cash?"

He ignored the question as he leaned against the Blackhawk. "You know, James, when we first met I could see why Carlisle spoke so highly of you. You're a true soldier, a man who's remarkably focused and doesn't ask questions. I valued his opinion. But now I see you for who you really are, and that he is merely a fool."

"What are you talking about?" He asked as he squared his shoulders.

He shrugged. "My employer was informed that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent you were hired to ice is still alive. Word on the street says you've been friendly towards her. He wasn't happy to hear that."

"Logan, what the hell is he talking about?" June asked sharply. He took the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it to the side.

"Do you want the fucking adamantium or not? You're wasting my time with these rumors." He replied as he took a step forward. Alton's heavies drew their pistols from their concealed shoulder holsters. Logan didn't flinch, and his grip on the briefcase tightened. The air was charged with hostility and the coming rain. He could feel the combined energy of the two crackle against his skin. The situation was a powder keg waiting to explode, and part of him hoped for a spark that would give him permission to put the men in their place.

"I wouldn't do anything stupid if I were you." Alton said.

Without warning, a gunshot sounded. Logan tensed and waited for the pain to come. Much to his surprise, it was Alton who slid to the ground as he gripped his shoulder. Blood began to seep through his gray suit and he swore loudly. Logan clenched his fists and shot a glare over his shoulder. Thanks to some trigger happy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, the situation was about to go from bad to worse. It was certainly a spark, but not quite the kind he was looking for.

The two stocky men reacted quicker than he expected. While Logan was distracted, John pistol whipped him with enough force to send him to the ground. His head collided with the pavement and a sharp, resounding crack rang in his ears. A wet warmth began to pool where his head had met the gravel. He groaned as the world around him began to spin. A stabbing pain pulsed through his head as he barely registered the muffled sound of the gunfire exchanged between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the two men. He braced himself against the ground and fought against the darkness that threatened to engulf him. He couldn't black out now, even if it was only for a minute. If he did, he would certainly end up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody. His secret regarding Carlisle had been found out, and there was no doubt that they would detain Lawrence as well. He had to warn him, had to get back on his feet and get out of there.

As the threat of losing consciousness began to subside, he was vaguely aware of a body falling to the ground beside him. His eyes locked onto the pistol that clattered onto the asphalt and he took a deep steadying breath. With a snarl, he grabbed the weapon and with military precision, shot John down with a single bullet to the head. Logan tossed the weapon aside and pushed himself to his feet. Wiping away the blood that had gotten into his eye, he leaned against his Mustang as his skull finished fusing back together.

By now, most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives in the area had come over. They busied themselves with searching the Blackhawk and the two corpses as Logan inspected his car for any damage. He let out a relieved sigh when he found that his car had miraculously remained untouched during the crossfire. His relief, however, was short lived. In an adjacent lot was a familiar Cadillac DeVille, its idle engine purring lowly. He straightened himself and stared hard at the vehicle as the passenger window was rolled up. His lungs pulled in the brisk air through his nose. Sorting through the smell of blood and the stink of discharged powder, a chunk of ice settled in his gut as he caught the all too familiar scent of Eau Sauvage cologne. The vehicle's headlights turned on and it leisurely drove off. The harsh sound of heels clicking against the pavement pulled Logan's attention away from the disappearing Cadillac and he turned.

"You better have a damn good explanation for all this, Logan!" June shouted. Her eyes were alight with rage, no longer soft and understanding.

"I'm not the one who shot first! I had it all under control." He retorted in a sad attempt to avoid the topic that was the source of her fury.

"That's not what I'm talking about. You've been working for Carlisle this whole time!"

"Look, I—"

"June! Come quick, I think this guy's taken some cyanide!" An agent called.

She swore and gave Logan a look that could kill. "I'm not done with you yet!" She hurried over to the agent kneeling beside Alton's body. Seeing this as his only window of opportunity, Logan slipped into his car and shifted into reverse. The exhaust from his engine filled the air as he gunned it. He peeled out of the lot and heard June order agents to follow him. He forced the clutch to the floor and engaged the first gear. The Mustang shook from the roar of the engine as he sped off towards Greenville. He knew better than to immediately head back to New York. He'd have to be dumber than meat to think he could lose S.H.I.E.L.D. in the Holland Tunnel. Driving into the heart of Jersey City was his best bet at throwing off his pursuers. The tires squealed against the pavement as he turned onto different residential streets and he maintained the high speed through a neighborhood and a half. It wasn't until he was sure that no one was immediately behind him that he eased on the gas. An auto repair shop on the right caught his eye, and he turned into the lot before parking between the other cars. He removed the keys from the ignition and rolled his windows down just a hair. He then maneuvered himself into the backseat and shrugged off his jacket. The blood from his healed head wound was still damp and, even with S.H.I.E.L.D. on his tail, he refused to ruin the vinyl upholstery.

As he lied down, rain began to patter against the roof and he closed his eyes. It was a game of waiting and listening now. With the cracked windows, the smell of petrichor seeped into the car as the drops of rain became more persistent. In the distance, he heard a vehicle cruise down the slick road. The spray that the tires kicked up drew closer and he stiffened. The vehicle that had approached sat idly close by, and he could tell that the vehicle had stopped in front of the lot. Logan opened his eyes and stared up at the driver side window. He readied himself for a fight, bringing his fists up and unsheathing his claws. Despite the thrumming of the rain, he could hear the conversation of the two agents in the car.

"You think he's in there?"

"I don't think so. If anything, he's still on the move. I've been hunting upstate and you'd be surprised by how long a chase can last."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Let's keep looking."

He clenched his jaw and sheathed his claws, knowing full well what the agent was implying. Logan heard the car drive off and he kept an eye on his watch. Erring on the side of caution, he waited for fifteen minutes before climbing back into the driver's seat. He then waited five more before sliding the keys into the ignition. After pulling out of the lot, he drove towards the heart of Greenville where he knew of a quiet bar that he used to visit regularly. Spending an hour at the bar was just what he needed and doing so would help kill time. June was thorough, and he wouldn't put it past her to assign agents as lookouts in Newport. He found a parking space in a small side lot across the street from the bar and shrugged on his jacket. Remembering the cigar on his dash, he tucked it into his coat pocket before stepping outside.

The downpour consumed him, and the chilly autumn air made his breath a visible cloud. Through the sheets of rain, he saw the bright reds and yellows of the neon bar sign reflect off the wet pavement. After all he'd been through he was more than ready for a few drinks, but first he had to call Lawrence. He locked his car and strode down the sidewalk towards a phone booth. Sliding the glass door shut behind him, he pulled the napkin from the diner out of his pocket and dropped a dime into the slot before dialing the number. He leaned against the glass and fidgeted with his keys as he waited, expecting the worst. A weight was lifted off his chest when the dial tone cut short.

"Hello?"

"Lawrence, listen to me. June found me out and she's livid. You need to get out of there before they try to detain you."

The line went silent, and Logan could tell that he was processing the information. "I thought I told you to be careful."

He rested his head against the glass and sighed. "Come on, Lawrence, that's not fair. You know how trouble follows me. Hell, I didn't even start it this time!"

"Fine, but where do you expect me to go if I can't go home?"

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose as he racked his brain for an answer. He finally recalled an old friend from their battalion who had moved to Queens. "What about Maurice's?"

"You mean Morrie? He lives in New York?"

"Yeah, he moved to Queens, remember? Don't know where though, you'll have to find his number and call him."

"Of course," he sighed, "should I expect to see you anytime soon?"

"Give me three hours. If you haven't heard from me by then, assume the worst."

"I hate it when you talk like that." Lawrence said quietly, his voice tight.

Logan paused, feeling a pang of guilt rise in his chest. He didn't like causing him distress, but there was no denying that this was a high-stakes situation. "Would you rather me lie to you? Now get your ass in gear before it's too late." He hung up before Lawrence could reply and crossed the quiet street to the bar.

As he stepped through the glass door, he found only a handful of patrons inside. Any other bar would have been packed at this hour but the owner, George, had kept the business small to foster a warm and inviting atmosphere. He was the kind of man who was willing to take in anyone under his wing. Logan respected him for his kindness and generosity. It made him feel at home in the small bar and reminded him of his better years in Alberta. As he took a seat at the counter and set his keys down, he saw George eagerly come over to him.

"Well I'll be damned, if it isn't my old friend Jimmy!" He beamed. "You look like a drowned rat."

The irony in his choice of words made Logan chuckle. "You have no idea."

"Let me get you a hot toddy on the house!" He said as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"You really don't have to."

"I insist!"

"Thanks," he replied as he took off his jacket.

"So, what brings you in? It's been too long since I last saw you." George said as he began fixing his drink.

He shrugged. "I was in town and thought I'd visit."

"It's good to see you, lad." He said as he handed him the steaming drink. The man's expression suddenly shifted as his eyebrows pulled together in concern. "Is that blood on your face?"

Logan touched a hand to his temple and brought it in front of his face. Sure enough, he had forgotten to wipe off what blood hadn't been washed away by the rain. "Yeah, got into a fight."

"That doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Knowing you, they probably had it coming. If you need anything at all, Jimmy, let me know." He replied before helping another patron.

He watched him go with a smile. George gave him too much credit, but Logan appreciated the benefit of a doubt that he gave him anyway. He breathed in the steam rising from his glass, enjoying the citrus and herbal notes that had mixed with the whiskey base. He nursed the drink and felt the warmth seep into his extremities. As he savored the concoction, he kept watch of the entrance. Even at a place as comfortable as George's, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. He finished the drink and ordered a bottle of the strongest whiskey George had. Being familiar with Logan's alcohol tolerance, he handed him a bottle and glass without question. About a third of the way through the bottle was when he felt a buzz kick in that dampened his senses. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the rare sensation. His lack of sleep and decent meals slowed his healing factor just enough to make him tipsy longer than usual. He reopened his eyes as the sensation began to subside and withdrew the cigar from his pocket. The end lit with ease and he leisurely gave it a few puffs as he poured more of the amber liquid into the glass.

He replayed the events that unfolded that night in his head. Alton had mentioned that someone told his employer that June was still alive. There were only five people he could recall who knew he had been commissioned to take her out: Carlisle, Frank, the S.H.I.E.L.D. rat, Lawrence, and whoever it was who wanted her dead. Logan puffed his cigar as he thought back to the times he was with June. Nothing suspicious stood out in his memories so he moved onto recalling his visit with Carlisle. His eyes widened as he remembered the man who had met with Carlisle before him. He understood with absolute clarity that the man was, in fact, the S.H.I.E.L.D. rat. There was no other reasonable explanation as to how Alton and his employer knew about his duplicity. It would also make sense why Carlisle had believed his story. It was only after the man had met with Carlisle that the agent had seen Logan. Perhaps he hadn't connected the dots until after running into each other that the Wolverine that June had encountered was the same man who was expected to kill her. After all, if Susan had recognized him, it was possible the S.H.I.E.L.D. rat could have as well. It would explain the initial fear he had detected.

"Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath. In addition, Carlisle's suspicion explained the Cadillac that had drove off. After picking up the scent of the familiar cologne, he was certain that it had been Frank's. Carlisle must have sent him to be his eyes and ears to make sure Logan was telling the truth. He ran a hand through his damp hair and stubbed his cigar. After tonight, he was a wanted man by three groups who possessed vast capabilities. He downed the whiskey in the glass and finished off the bottle. As he rose from his seat, he could feel the tipsy feeling return and he took hold of the counter to steady himself.

"Leaving already? You've barely been here for more than an hour." George said as he came over.

"I've got to take care of a few things." He replied as he put on his jacket. He dug out a fifty from his pocket and handed it to George.

"I understand. Take it easy, Jimmy, and come back soon!"

He nodded and stepped out of the bar. The door shut behind him and he was greeted by the downpour that was determined to soak him to the bone. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and crossed the street. When he reached his car, he padded down his pockets and tried to remember where he had put his keys. Between the torrential rain and his ebbing buzz, he didn't hear the two men who approached him from behind. He turned, remembering he had left them on the bar's counter, and found himself staring down the barrel of a .45 caliber pistol. The weapon fired before he could knock the gun away and his world went black.


	5. Pulling Strings

The first thing that occurred to Logan when he came-to was that he was inside a cramped space, and that he was moving. Or more so being moved. He massaged the back of his neck with a grimace, noting its stiffness and the ringing in his head. In the midst of his fading stupor, he instinctively knew his situation had gone from bad to worse, and the cold that pricked at his skin only confirmed his suspicions. As he tried to piece together his memories through the disorienting static in his mind, he opened his eyes only to be greeted by darkness. With a furrowed brow, he reached out and grunted when his hand smacked a carpeted wall. He ran his hand along the space and felt cool metal above him. A chill ran down his spine, and he was unsure if it was from the cold or the dawning realization that he was inside the trunk of a moving car.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, finally making sense of the floating memories that were clicking into place. Of course, this wasn't just any car. Between the smell of old blood and Eau Sauvage, it dawned on him that he was inside the Cadillac DeVille he'd seen earlier. The one that clearly belonged to Frank and the man who had put a bullet through his skull. The two men, who had mistakenly assumed he was dead, were now driving him someplace where they could dump his body. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.

The faint smell of salt eventually mixed with the other odors, indicating that their plan was to toss him into the bay. Logan let out a sigh of relief, thankful he had woken up when he did. A minute later and he would have never woken up at all. At least not until someone dragged him out of the water, but he doubted anyone besides Lawrence would even think twice if he went missing.

Without warning, the driver slammed on his breaks and Logan braced himself against the sudden stop using the spare tire behind him. As the engine was cut off, Logan carefully eased himself closer to the bumper. He heard the two doors open and the vehicle shifted as the two men got out. The crunching of gravel grew closer and he drew a deep breath. A key slid into the trunk lid and he unsheathed his claws, prepping himself for the moment the trunk would open.

"I still think we should have used the blonde against him. We could've had James doing a helluvalot more if Carlisle had used that guy as leverage." He recognized the voice as Frank's and his blood boiled.

"Nah, once a rat always a rat. I'm just glad he's dead. He gave me the creeps. There was always something off about that guy."

"Well it doesn't matter now, so let's get this over with." The trunk lid lifted, and Logan lunged forward. He plunged the full length of his claws into the slender man's chest and the two of them tumbled backwards onto the ground. Without hesitation, he pulled back a fist and stabbed him once more in the head, his claws finding their mark just below the man's brow.

"Holy fuck!" Frank shouted as he reached for his revolver. He unloaded all six rounds into Logan's back and he cried out as his body recoiled from the impact. Swearing under his breath, he whirled around to face him and stood. Logan rolled his shoulders, working out the fiery pain where each round had pierced his flesh. Frank gaped at the ground as the bullets were dislodged from Logan's back, each one hitting the asphalt with a soft tink. Frank's tough demeanor disappeared, and he began to backpedal. With all the rain that had gathered on the road, he slipped and landed hard on the ground. Logan stalked over to where he fell and grabbed a handful of his collared shirt, practically pouncing on him.

"Where's Carlisle?" He snarled.

Frank spat in his face. "Like I'd tell a mutant fuck like you!"

"Wrong answer." He growled as he drove his claws through his left thigh, earning a scream from the man beneath him. "Next, you lose your fucking balls, you understand? Now let's try this again. Where is that sonuvabitch?"

"Alright, alright, he's at the Beekman! He has a personal suite on the fifth floor."

"Last question, where the hell are we?"

"Bergen Point," he panted, "come on James, I've answered your damn questions! Now let me go!"

"I don't think so." He replied coldly.

Frank's face turned a ghostly white. Before he could protest, Logan sank his claws into his throat. He kept them there as he watched the life drain from him. Frank let out a gurgling, choking sound as his hands reached up in a feeble attempt to free himself. His body fell limp in seconds, and Logan withdrew his bloodied hands from the corpse. He regarded the mess on his hands before staring at the gore on the ground. The grim realization that his first, almost instinctive, response was nearly identical to his Team X training was unsettling. He shook his head to clear the chilling thought before sheathing his claws. Logan then hastily wiped his hands clean on Frank's blazer and found the keys to the Cadillac in his pocket. The wide brimmed fedora that had fallen off Frank's head pulled his attention, and he snagged it. He was certain that there were still S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted around the city and, the hat would help throw them off. After he dropped into the driver's seat, he started the car and peeled out of the industrial area.

There was a brief moment where Logan considered finding his own car. However, while the Cadillac DeVille didn't necessarily have a low profile, it was a vehicle that S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't recognize. Between the hat and the Cadillac, he was able to pass the agents posted throughout Newport and merge onto I-78 with ease. He smirked. Despite being shot in the head and nearly being drowned, everything seemed to be finally working in his favor. Out of curiosity, he reached over to open the glove compartment and had to take a second glance at the contents inside.

He'd found the jackpot. Inside was a pack of illegal Cuban cigars. Thanks to Kennedy, he hadn't had a Cuban cigar in over ten years. Logan closed the compartment and made a mental note to store them inside his humidor after dealing with Carlisle. Frank wasn't going to need them anymore, and he couldn't justify letting such a find go to waste.

As he drove through Lower Manhattan, the heavy rain slowed to a drizzle. He admired the view as raindrops gathered on the windshield, making the city look like a Jackson Pollock painting. Had his current situation been different, he might've taken the time to enjoy the rainy, autumn night with a glass of whiskey and a few cigars. However, there would be no rest for him until he had completely defused the mess he had gotten Lawrence and himself into.

He followed West Broadway and saw the lights of the Beekman Hotel come into view. Logan parked along the side of the road and looked down at the blood that covered his sleeves. If he wanted to stay unnoticed in the hotel, he would have to leave his bullet riddled and bloodstained jacket. He took off his jacket and gave it a once over and concluded that it was far from saving. Cursing under his breath, he glanced at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Even with being in the pouring rain, there was still a trace of dried blood that ran from his forehead down to his neck. As much as he hated to admit that the jacket was ruined, he used it anyway to wipe his face clean. He tossed the jacket as well as the hat onto the floor and stepped out onto the street.

When he stepped inside the hotel, the grandeur of the lobby momentarily stunned Logan. While he acknowledged the talent required for the skillful artistry, he felt a strong aversion towards Victorian design and lavish décor. Both reminded him too much of the home he'd ran away from more than half a century ago and of people long-gone. With a scowl, he repressed the resurfacing memories and looked around for the stairs. He spotted them tucked away in a hallway to his right and began to climb them.

He reached the fifth floor and stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway of the atrium. Once again, he was reminded of his childhood as the ornate Victorian railing came into view. Logan ignored them and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose. Amongst the multitude of odors was Carlisle's unmistakable scent. Taking another breath, he found that the trail directed him to the left. He walked lightly down the hallway, listening for anything that would give away the room Carlisle was in. As he passed the sixth door, he heard a shrill scream and the sound of ceramic shattering on the ground come from the room. He was quick to approach the door and he let his ear hover just above the mahogany wood. With being this close to the door, his nose picked up on the acrid and fresh stench of fear and androstenol that saturated the air. The combination reminded him of some of the unspoken horrors he'd witnessed while at war. Memories of men with no morals and no respect for others.

A fresh swell of anger rose in him as he stepped back and squared his body with the locking mechanism. The door flung open with one solid kick and he reached Carlisle in a matter of seconds. Surprised, Carlisle let go of a young housekeeper's arm and Logan grabbed a fistful of his blazer. He then hauled him away from her with a snarl and pinned him against the wall with enough force to cause the drywall to cave. He pressed his left fist to his shoulder and unsheathed his claws into the soft flesh. Ignoring Carlisle's cry, he looked over at the woman.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, too shaken to speak. He examined her and the shattered dishes on the ground regardless. Despite her accelerated heartrate, he was relieved to find that she was telling the truth. He reached into the pocket of Carlisle's double-breasted blazer, pulled out a wad of cash, and tossed it to her. "Here's for what he tried to do. For the record you saw nothing, and you were never here. Understand?"

She thanked him and hastily left the room, closing the door as much as it would allow behind her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Carlisle spat as he struggled against the claws impaled in his shoulder. "What the hell are you?"

Logan's blazing eyes locked onto his. He could see the sweat that had started to bead on Carlisle's brow as he held him there. "Someone you don't want to fuck around with."

"If you kill me, you fucker, you'll have a helluvalot of people on your ass."

He smirked as the strong odor of cortisol betrayed the crime boss' feigned confidence. "Listen Carlisle, I don't give a shit. I've already put down Frank and his friend. No one in their right mind is going to fuck with me. Which means it's now _my_ turn to pull the strings, and you're going to answer my question."

"Yeah? And what if I don't?"

He unsheathed his other set of claws and let them rest just underneath Carlisle's jaw. "Listen you little shit, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

The last remnants of his dwindling confidence disappeared in an instant as his wide eyes locked onto the bony protrusions. "What is it you want to know?"

Logan could feel his old self rising from its grave, hungrily feeding off the fear he was inducing. A self that he swore he buried after ditching Team X. Yet here it was, reawakening and scratching at the walls thirsty for blood. Although if he was honest with himself, he'd been exhuming this darker side of him ever since he started working for the man he had his claws buried into.

He rolled his shoulders and refocused his thoughts. Now wasn't the time for self-reflection. "Frankly, I'm still pissed you sent your men after me and that you threatened to hurt a friend of mine, so I'm only going to ask once. Who's been buying the adamantium?"

"I knew you were working for those S.H.I.E.L.D. bastards."

He snarled and twisted his claws deeper into his shoulder, drawing another agonized cry from him. "I'm not doing this for S.H.I.E.L.D. Whoever's running this operation has been keeping tabs on me and I've had enough of their bullshit. Now answer the question before I lose my patience!"

"Alright calm down, dammit! He goes by the Professor. But there's another man, Stryker, who orchestrates all the dirty work."

Logan blinked. He knew those names. They were the men June had asked him about thinking they were affiliated with Team X. He shook his head, forcing himself to push that train of thought to the side for now. His speculations about all that was unfolding would have to wait. "Was that so hard?"

Carlisle glared at him. "Are you gonna let me go or not you mutant piece of shit."

Without warning, Logan thrusted his claws upwards into his head. "You tell me, bub."

He sheathed his claws and watched Carlisle's body leave a trail of blood on the wall as it slid to the floor. He wiped his bloody hands on his black shirt and searched the suite for a window. The less people who witnessed his coming and going the better, especially since the only door led to an open atrium. He went over to a window that overlooked the alley and swore. It was just his luck that neither building had a fire escape. A five-story jump was no small feat. The drop would no doubt break bones, but it was manageable. Logan pushed the window open and scanned the alleyway. It was dark, and the only movement he detected belonged to some rats who were scavenging for food. Seeing that it was clear, he braced himself and leapt.

The instant his feet hit the ground, he rolled to distribute the impact as much as he could. Oddly enough, he was grateful that the drop had knocked the wind out of him. With the wind sucked out of his lungs, he was unable to vocalize the sharp pain that radiated through his body. He lied with his back to the pavement, momentarily struggling for air as the fragmented cartilage and bones in his legs and torso sewed themselves back together. A low groan escaped him once he had caught his breath again. The chilling mist hit Logan's face and gathered in little droplets as he waited for his legs to become responsive once more. When he was able to push himself up, he heard shouts from the window of Carlisle's suite that belonged to the unfortunate soul who had found his body. He quickened his pace as he cut across the rain-soaked street and dropped into the driver's seat of the Cadillac. After starting the luxury car, he drove towards the Manhattan Bridge and into Brooklyn.

The rain had stopped completely by the time he reached his apartment complex and he pulled up alongside the curb. Being accustomed to manual transmissions, he engaged the emergency brake after shifting into park out of habit. As he reached over to the glovebox, his keen nose caught a familiar scent and he froze. He swiftly glanced up at the street as his senses were put on red alert. The exhaustion he felt had caused him to completely forget that June knew where he lived. Now that he was thinking about it, the place reeked of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were waiting for him.

He quickly released the emergency brake, hoping he could still slip away undetected. As he went to grab the gear shift lever, a tap on the window halted him. He swore and turned to see June standing outside his car. She had a pistol in her hand and he could sense the anger that simmered beneath her calm exterior. He swallowed and lowered the window as nonchalantly as possible.

"Nice Cadillac. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you drove a Mustang. A fastback from nineteen sixty-eight, right?" She asked coldly.

"Nineteen sixty-four, and I'm borrowing it for the night." He corrected as his eyes settled on the 9mm in her hand. "You really think that's gonna intimidate me?"

She shrugged. "Call it insurance. I'm not going to lie; it was pretty smart of you to get the number to the safe house, but did you really think we'd leave the lines untapped?"

"Where's Lawrence?" He growled, his gaze becoming a heated glare.

"Don't worry, he's safe in our custody as long as you comply. Now get out of the car."

He studied her, feeling a knot form in the pit of his stomach when he realized she was telling the truth. He hissed out a long string of swears under his breath as he shut off the car before exiting the Cadillac. A few agents emerged from their cars and approached them, weapons trained on him and ready to fire if need be as June handcuffed him.

"Is all this really necessary?"

"It makes us feel better."

"I take it I'm not getting those original files anymore." He quipped as she directed him towards a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle.

"Not a chance in hell."

* * *

Logan toyed with the metal chains that bound his wrists to the table and tried to remember the last time he'd been detained. With Carlisle's protection, he was able to avoid the NYPD completely. It didn't matter what he did, and as long as his actions were under Carlisle's orders the police had no choice but to look the other way.

The interrogation room he was detained in was obscenely gray, and he looked over at his reflection in the one-way mirror. To describe his appearance as haggard would've been an understatement. His hair was beyond disheveled, sticking this way and that. The black button-up he was wearing was riddled with bullet holes and torn in several places from his fall earlier that night. He didn't care, though. After the hell he'd been through that night, he was bound to look run-down. Taking in his reflection, he realized that he felt as exhausted as he looked. It had been almost forty-eight hours since he last slept. He sighed. There truly was no rest for the wicked.

He was surprised at what his ears could pick up from outside the room despite its heavy insulation. The clicking of radios tuning in to the same frequency. The terse words exchanged between June and the agent he had recognized from the bar, the softer yet stern words of another. An agreeable grunt from a fourth. A snap of what could only be a recording system being switched on.

"Are you all gonna stay in there all day or what?" He muttered, his gruff voice bouncing off the walls. Logan wanted this to be over and done with as quickly as possible. He heard movement and the door behind him opened.

"It's been a while since our paths crossed." A man with an eyepatch stated as he came into view. June walked in beside him and they both took a seat at the table.

Logan's eyebrows knit together as he looked him over. He was unnervingly familiar, yet he was unable to place why. The more he lingered on it, the more he couldn't shake the sense that he should know the man like a soldier knows his comrades. "Who the hell are you?"

"Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., we met during World War Two."

"Can't say I remember." He recognized his name, but the memories were beyond muddy. The only thing he knew, whether by instinct or intuition, was that he had purposefully let those memories go and had no intention of remembering them anytime soon.

Fury eyed him, his expression stoic except for the brief flicker of confusion in his eye. "Look, whether you remember or not, we know you have a bloody past. We have every right to incarcerate you, but I'm willing to give you a second chance."

"I'm listening." Logan said, cocking an eyebrow.

"We know you have been working for Carlisle, and that you were hired to kill June."

"Well, clearly I didn't."

Fury ignored him. "Where can we find him?"

The question made him laugh, confusing both of the agents in front of them. "You can find his corpse at the Beekman on the fifth floor. That is if the NYPD or FBI hasn't confiscated it yet."

Fury and June exchanged a glance, wordlessly communicating something to each other. Her eyes shifted back to Logan. "Well that explains some of the blood on your person, but why work for Carlisle if you were just going to kill him?" She asked.

"It wasn't planned, if that's what you're asking. Once he found out I was helping you, he set me up and tried to put me six feet under. He also knew about Lawrence, and I couldn't take any chances. Bastard had no idea who he was dealing with."

"Do you realize you killed the only other person who had any idea of who's been collecting all the adamantium?" Fury asked.

Logan looked up at him, suddenly understanding the importance of the intel he had gathered earlier. He was well aware of the damage his mess had caused, and perhaps the information he pulled from Carlisle would be, at the very least, Lawrence's ticket out of this place. What he knew would save S.H.I.E.L.D. time and resources. They were hot on the trail of where all the adamantium was going, and this was his opportunity to gain the upper hand by telling them who was behind it all. With a smirk, he leaned back in his chair.

"There's one other person, and you're looking at him."

June's shocked expression amused him. "You're joking."

"The claws are persuasive," he shrugged, "I can also solve your little rat problem. However, I'll only cooperate on the condition that you'll release Lawrence."

"How do we know you're telling the truth? You can't fool me like you fooled Cap."

He tilted his head as he straightened his posture, unsure of what the director meant. A faint grimace distorted his features and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Fury's words were stirring up glimpses of memories that had about as much structure as a raging sea. Logan took in a breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to stabilize his turbulent mind.

"Look, Lawrence is only in this mess because he was unlucky enough to be affiliated with me. Just release him and I'll tell you what I know and where to find more info."

"I'll agree to your condition, but I will only release Lawrence _after_ you fulfill your end of the bargain."

"Fine." He snapped. "Carlisle mentioned that there were two people, some guy called the Professor and another named Stryker."

Nick Fury narrowed his eye. "The Professor, you mean Thorton?"

"He didn't say."

"Are you sure you heard him right?" He asked. Nick's air had suddenly changed, and Logan could sense his urgency.

"Did you really just ask me if I heard him right?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is this professor anyone you know?"

"Back in forty-five, we investigated a liberated concentration camp. We found a lab deep inside the building that resembled a few others we'd found designed for mutant experimentation." He shook his head. "If Thorton withheld any files found within those walls, this adamantium may be going towards a more sinister cause than I originally thought."

"How sinister are we talking?"

"If he took the files I think he did, we're talking super-soldiers created via incredibly inhumane, and nearly lethal, methods."

Logan frowned. He knew something didn't feel right about the adamantium he was transporting. Unfortunately, he'd have to live the rest of his life knowing he assisted these twisted men.

"Did Carlisle keep any records of the people who did business with him?" June asked.

"I don't know exactly what he kept, but if he did they would either be at Mike's Bar down in Queens, or his hotel suite at the Beekman." He said. "As for your rat, he's behind that glass. He may know a thing or two as well."

Fury was on his feet in an instant and he pulled a two-way radio from his belt. "Dugan, do you have him?"

The radio hissed to life shortly after. "You bet your ass I do."

"Good," he shifted his gaze from the glass to Logan, "how the hell do you know it's him when you can't even see who's behind the glass?"

"One, I can smell him. Two, I recognized him the moment you walked me in here. We briefly crossed paths once at Mike's."

"Detain him for now, Dugan, until we can properly question him."

Logan could hear the man swear as Dugan followed orders and he couldn't help but find the situation comical. "Are Lawrence and I free to go?"

"Technically speaking, I should only let Lawrence go. You have a long rap sheet that spans a few decades. However, I believe you could do more working for S.H.I.E.L.D. rather than twiddling your thumbs in a jail cell."

He furrowed his brow. "You're offering me a job? Why?"

"As you know, we've had a position just open up and aside from the problems you caused in the past, you were a good soldier. Imagine the good you could do working alongside us."

"So far it doesn't feel like a lot of 'good' has happened."

"No, but what did you expect when you decided to switch sides behind Carlisle's back?"

Logan frowned and lowered his eyes to his cuffed hands. As much as he hated to admit it, he had him there. Fury gave June a nod and she unlocked the handcuffs. Logan massaged his wrists, the bruises quickly fading as he heard June radio in about Lawrence's release. He started to follow her towards the door when he felt the director place a hand on his shoulder.

"Think about it, Logan. You have June's contact information."

"Don't get your hopes up, bub." He said before he left the room. June handed him his belongings before escorting him to the front of the building. The large windows of the foyer let in the soft, pink light of dawn. Several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were going about their business and getting a head start to their day. Most of them were dressed in suits or S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms, making it easy for him to pick out Lawrence who was standing in the middle of the quiet bustle with an agent by his side. When they made eye contact, Logan realized that he looked almost as exhausted as he was. He was relieved to find that other than a small cut and bruise that discolored his temple, he looked unharmed. The blonde's eyes widened, and he ran over to him. Without slowing down, he went in for a hug, causing Logan to stumble back a few steps.

"It's good to see you." Lawrence said. "For a moment I thought…"

"Hey, do I look dead to you?" he grinned as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "It's good to see you too."

He pulled back and gave him a once over look. "Man, you look like hell."

"Feels like I've been to it and back. What happened to your head? Did they do this?" He demanded as he examined the minor wound. His fingers lightly traced the outer edge of the dark purple skin with a gentleness that surprised Lawrence. However despite the soft touch, the minor wound was still sensitive, and he winced from the contact. Logan's eyes narrowed, and he couldn't help but bristle at the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. inflicting even a minor injury on his friend.

"Yes and no, let's not get into it here."

"Logan, some agents found your car in Greenville." June said. "They were able to find your keys at the bar and we were originally going to confiscate it. However, since we aren't incarcerating you, I had someone pull it around to the front."

"Greenville? What on Earth were you doing there?" Lawrence asked.

"I'll tell you everything in the car." He replied.

"Maybe I'll be seeing you again." She said. "Hopefully, it'll be under better circumstances."

Lawrence gave Logan a questioning look, but he ignored it. "We'll see." He then paused for a brief moment. "June, I was going to tell you about Carlisle eventually."

"No you weren't." She countered, her arms folding across her chest.

He shrugged. "You're probably right, but I'm sorry you didn't hear it from me."

The apology took her off guard, and Logan could've sworn he saw her flinch ever so slightly. "Apology accepted."

"See you around." Logan said as he and Lawrence left.

With it being only five in the morning, the roads were practically deserted. As they drove down FDR Drive, Logan caught Lawrence up to speed on all that had occurred within the last seven hours. He wasn't surprised by how silent Lawrence was as he was told everything. After all, he'd thrown caution to the wind and had almost ended up at the bottom of Newark Bay. It wasn't until he had pulled up alongside the street and engaged the emergency brake that Lawrence finally broke his silence.

"So S.H.I.E.L.D. really offered you a job?"

"Yeah,"

"You're going to take it, right?"

"Don't know. I've worked for a government agency before and it didn't end well." He replied.

"But this is S.H.I.E.L.D., not some borderline illegal black ops group." He countered. "I think you should take the job. It'll be good for you, and you'd be able to use your skills legally for once."

"It's too damn early for this." He huffed as he tiredly looked over at Lawrence. Logan's gaze zeroed in on the bruised and broken skin of his temple again. He was so wrapped up in retelling what had happened that he almost forgot to ask him about it. Lawrence noticed the shift in his attention and shrugged, a rueful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Would you believe me if I told you I tripped and hit my head on the corner of a table?"

He quirked an eyebrow, not quite willing to believe his story yet. "Is that what really happened?"

"Unfortunately. Happened while I was trying to leave the safe house. I was gathering my things in the dark and tripped on a shag rug."

After a moment, Logan simply chuckled. He wasn't lying, and now that the whole ordeal was behind them he found the incident humorous.

"It's not funny." Lawrence said, his widening smile contradicting his own words.

"Not one bit," he replied. He stepped out into the cold and Lawrence followed suit. The two of them entered the apartment and as Logan called the elevator, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"In all seriousness, I'm glad you're okay and I'm sorry for getting so angry yesterday." Lawrence said.

"I deserved it. I'm actually surprised you didn't punch me."

"Trust me, I wanted to." He chuckled. "Night, Logan."

"Night," he smiled as he watched his friend round the corner.

The elevator arrived, and he leaned against one of its walls as it carried him to the fourth floor. It seemed like years since he last walked down the carpeted hallway. He couldn't think of a time when he had felt more relieved to be back in the apartment complex. What he usually viewed as dingy and drab was suddenly just the place he wanted to be. As he exited the elevator, the exhaustion that he'd been battling hit him like a freight train. It consumed him from the inside out and made his limbs feel numb and full of lead. When he entered his apartment, he collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to change his clothes. It could wait till morning. His aching eyes closed, and he was taken away into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Initially, Logan was disoriented when he had awakened. He could still smell the traces of dried blood mixed with discharged gunpowder on his shirt and Lawrence's scent on the pillow beneath his head. The combination caused his brow to furrow as he opened his eyes. He looked around the room that was soaked in the warm afternoon light as he recalled the last two days.

The blood, a mixture of his own and others.

The gunpowder, residue from the firefight and his own brief encounter with death.

Lawrence's scent, a mix of a light and citrusy cologne, cigarette smoke, and beer from the night before.

Logan could hardly believe that it had only been a day ago that the two of them were playing cards in his apartment. He rolled over onto his side and glanced at the clock that told him it was two in the afternoon. Despite the chaos that had ensued in the last twelve hours, he felt fully rested for the first time in a long while. His mind wandered to the butabarbital that was still shoved between the mattress and the bed frame, realizing that he hadn't taken any that morning. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Perhaps he could finally rest easy now that he wasn't Carlisle's puppet. Granted, there was still the PTSD he had to work through, but his stress levels would certainly be lower with Carlisle out of the picture. If fate would allow it, maybe he could even start living a relatively normal life.

Tired of smelling all that he had tracked back with him from the last forty-eight hours, he decided to step into the shower. As he stood under the showerhead, he turned the temperature as high as it could go without burning his skin off. While he had his healing factor, there was still the pain that would follow. He wanted to kill the different scents that clung to his skin, not fry his nerve endings. As the steam collected in a thick fog, he took the time to process all that had happened.

All things considered, he could've found himself staring at a much grimmer outcome. His betrayal with Carlisle was bound to happen sooner or later. Whether it was dumb luck or fate, S.H.I.E.L.D. had played a role in tipping the scales in his favor. However, he could tell that they expected something in return. Logan believed that all government agencies, regardless of their purpose or allegiance, were the same at their core. It was a tit for tat economy full of IOUs and "fair" bargains. He was almost certain that the job offer was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s way of diplomatically implying that he owed them. In addition, with all the information they had on him it was better for Logan to play nice and stay on their good side, at least for now. Besides, with Carlisle gone, he was now unemployed and there was rent that still needed to be paid.

He shut off the shower and put on some clean clothes. As he finished styling his hair, he couldn't help but replay Lawrence's words from that morning. His eyes lingered on the reflection of the bookcase in the mirror and the rotary phone that sat on one of the shelves. With a sigh, he entered the living room and dialed June's number.

"Hello?"

"June, it's me. I want to talk to you about Fury's offer."


	6. Kintsugi

January 12th 1973

Logan zipped up his jacket as he stepped outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters. Between the gray blanket of clouds and wintry air, anyone in their right mind might have thought it would snow. His nose, however, told him otherwise. It would be about a week until there was enough moisture for any kind of precipitation. He watched the traffic on the street as he pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket. As he held his lighter to it, he heard June call his name. Taking a puff, he turned as she made her way over to him. Logan smiled to himself, thinking about how their friendship had grown. At first, he had doubts that she would be able to look past the stunt he had pulled. When he accepted the job, he made a point to tell June the full story regarding the incident. While she had been rightfully angry, she had decided to move on. June had shown him grace despite his moral failings, and he was grateful for the second chance.

"I meant to tell you inside that you did some fantastic work in there! I'd even say you're better than a polygraph test." She said with a smile.

He chuckled at the comparison. "Please, a polygraph is severely limited in what it can read."

"Regardless, a few of us are going to celebrate our progress on this whole adamantium affair in an hour at Delmonico's. Fury wanted to know if you plan on joining us. We're only where we are now thanks to the skills you've brought to the table."

"I'm flattered, but I already have plans with Lawrence. He wanted to go to a bar in Queens to celebrate the two months I've spent working with you guys." As well as the two months he'd been clean, but June didn't need to know that small detail.

"I understand. You know, you two can always join us later if you'd like."

"Thanks, June. If he's not too blitzed, we'll swing by."

"Of course, you're part of the team now." She smiled. "I'll see you around."

He nodded and watched her reenter the building. After another puff, he began walking down the sidewalk to his Mustang that was parked along the brownstone houses. He sat in the driver's seat and began the drive back to his apartment.

The drop in temperature was the first thing he noticed when he stepped out of his car. He felt a chill go through him and folded his arms across his chest as he crossed the street. It struck him as odd since he had a high tolerance for the cold. The shiver he felt wasn't from the temperature, and the realization made him become hyperaware of his surroundings. As he reached for the door handle to the apartment complex, he froze as his nose picked up something foul lingering in the air. All at once his senses sent red flags to his brain, the animal within demanding a fight or flight response. His fists clenched, and he scowled as he recognized the faint odor. It was metallic and sweet, a scent he knew far too well. A scent that Logan refused to identify despite its macabre familiarity. Something wasn't right, and the feeling of dread that he couldn't shake made his blood run cold.

He hastily pushed open the glass door and quickened his pace, taking long brisk strides down the hallway as he rounded the corner and headed down the hall. As he approached Lawrence's door, the sickening smell grew stronger. Logan's heart pounded against his ribs as a tightness began to overtake his chest. He knocked hard on the door as soon as he reached it.

Silence.

He fumbled with the handle and when he found it was unlocked, he threw the door open and heard it hit the wall with a loud thud from the force.

Logan had served in four horrific wars, had been a concentration camp prisoner, and had witnessed Nagasaki. He swore he'd seen it all. Even so, the gruesome sight in front of him was something that could make any hardened soldier's blood curdle.

He stood stock still, rooted to where he stood and utterly stunned by the grisly scene that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. Now he understood why he could smell the blood all the way from outside. His stomach turned at the sight and suddenly the room felt like it was spinning. A numbness filled his head and limbs with static as he closed the door and made his way over to where Lawrence was bound to a chair. He looked him over with his trained eyes, refusing to believe what his senses and decades of experience were telling him.

The undeniable smell of death.

The stiffness and waxy complexion.

The staleness of the blood that saturated the carpet beneath the chair.

He took in a shuddering breath as panic began to replace the numbness. This had to be one of his nightmares. All he had to do was wake up.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them once again only to find that what he saw in front of him was, in fact, very real. He averted his gaze from Lawrence's body to the wall in front of him and furrowed his brow when he saw a glaring 'X' written in blood.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was a message specifically for him, and the sender had simply used Lawrence as a means to get it across. For a second time, Logan examined his body and took in every cut and bruise that marked him. Even with the fog clouding his mind, it suddenly clicked.

This was his fault.

The impact of the painful realization and all that lay in front of him sent him to his knees. Logan couldn't believe he had let this slip past him, that he hadn't paid more attention these last three months between working for Carlisle and S.H.I.E.L.D. He should have known that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. would make him the enemy of something far larger than Carlisle's network. His mistake had made his worst fears a reality, and the price of his error had cost Lawrence his life. He held his face in his hands and for the first time in years, his stoic demeanor shattered as the overwhelming grief consumed him.

In the back of his mind, he knew he couldn't sit there and do nothing much longer. He had to notify someone before too much time had passed. As he pulled himself together, he walked over to the landline Lawrence kept on a teak sideboard. He held the handset in his hand as his finger hovered over the dial. He had two options: he could call the police or call S.H.I.E.L.D. If he called the police, there was no doubt they would let the case file collect dust. Especially if solving the case meant indicting individuals in high places within the government. He glanced at his watch and dialed June's work number with a shaky hand, hoping she was still at her desk.

"Hello?"

"June…" he stopped himself as his voice faltered and he cleared his throat. Even to his own ears his voice was raspier than usual.

"Logan? What's wrong?" Her tone was immediately laced with concern.

"Lawrence was murdered." The line was silent, and Logan feared the call had dropped. "June?"

"I'm sorry, _what_? Oh God, are you at his apartment?"

"Yeah,"

"We're heading over your way now with our CSI unit. Try not to touch any of the evidence, okay? We'll be there as soon as possible."

* * *

The CSI unit that combed through the apartment for evidence was but a blur in Logan's peripheral as he stared at the glaring X on the wall. With all his focus concentrated on the image, their conversations were nothing more than muted chatter as if he was underwater. The symbol mocked him, dredging up his past and poisoning his present. The flash of cameras that casted bright, intermittent light acted as the insidious message's own spotlight. He rested his hand against his chin as he absentmindedly ran his thumb over his stubble and furrowed his brow. He had to make this right, he owed Lawrence that much at least. The people who were behind this would pay for what they did. He could feel the red-hot rage of the berserker simmering underneath, ready and willing to do whatever it would take to avenge Lawrence.

When the unit had initially arrived, they had tried to remove Logan from the scene. With only two months with S.H.I.E.L.D. under his belt, he simply didn't have the clearances to stay on site. June, however, had argued otherwise. At this point Logan was a witness, an employee, and the victim's friend. She had insisted that all the above was enough proof that he had every right to stay.

He continued to watch the CSI unit as they took samples and notes, watched as they analyzed the blood stains and spatters.

 _Look at what you did_ , he thought.

A lean detective chatted with Fury along the far wall, the red X looming behind them.

 _This is who you are._

A few CSIs hovered around Lawrence's body as they meticulously documented anything and everything, from measuring the gashes and bruises to examining the bloodstained turtleneck.

 _Everyone you care about dies._

As a few technicians began preparing the body for transport, he felt a hand gently take his own and he jumped. Looking down to his left, he saw that it was June who had come beside him.

"I understand, at least in part, what you're feeling right now."

He sighed and watched the technicians take Lawrence's body away. "He didn't deserve this."

"I know."

"He was supposed to..." He found his voice trailing off on its own and he hated it, hated how exposed and vulnerable it made him feel.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, encouraging him to go on.

Logan cleared his throat. "He talked about being buried at Long Island National Cemetery. He grew up in Brooklyn and had mentioned it while we were in Korea."

"We'll give them a call and see if we can get him in this month. From what I've heard, there's a pretty lengthy waitlist." She said. "If there's anything else we can do, please don't hesitate to let us know."

"Thank you,"

She nodded and withdrew her hand. "Mark is a detective who usually works with us and he's going to ask you a few questions as protocol. I know it's the last thing you want to do, but please try to cooperate with him."

As if on cue, the detective who had been talking with Fury came over with a pen and notepad in hand. The questions were run of the mill and by the time Mark was done, Logan had forgotten all that had been asked. His eyes took in the apartment once more. The space felt foreign to him now, violated and no longer full of the warmth it once had.

He looked over at June who was talking to a woman with long dark hair and his ears easily tuned into their conversation.

"June, I don't know what to tell you. This place has been wiped clean of prints and any other means of identification. And with this MO I highly doubt the NYPD will do anything to help our investigation."

"Come on, Lauren, there's got to be something you can do." June said.

She sighed. "We'll turn this place upside down and inside out, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. I've seen this kind of situation before and we never found the culprit."

"Thank you, that's all I'm asking for."

When June finished talking with Lauren, who seemed to be leading the investigation, she returned to Logan's side. "Lauren said she'd inform the medical examiner of the situation. She thinks they'll be finished with the autopsy by the end of this week at the latest."

"Autopsy? Hasn't he been cut open enough? For fuck's sake, the cause of death is more than obvious." His senses hadn't detected any poisons, leading him to believe that the cause of death was a combination of blood loss, blunt trauma, and his own foolishness.

"Protocol says—"

"Fuck protocol!"

" _Logan_ —"

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "It's just that all this red tape is a big fucking waste of time while his killer is still out there."

"I know, but we've got to do this right if we're going to find Thorton and Stryker. They're the ones truly behind this."

"Right," he said, acquiescing to June's reasoning.

"We'll get them, Logan. There _will_ be justice."

"There better be." He muttered before leaving the apartment.

* * *

Logan leaned against the church's stony exterior, his breath forming soft clouds in the frigid air. Today marked almost a week since he had found Lawrence's mutilated body, and he couldn't help but notice how gray and dismal the sky looked. The somber tone of the man speaking at the pulpit carried down the aisle to where he stood outside. He listened to the hollow words of the stranger who pretended to know Lawrence like a dear friend. How the man being laid to rest had fought valiantly in Korea and helped house people who had no other place to go. Even as a man of few words, Logan was convinced he could have offered a better fitting eulogy. However, he refused to step inside. In his mind, he had already done enough.

Logan bitterly took a swig of whiskey from the flask in his hand. In his experience, funerals were full of people who either came out of guilt or those who only showed face to rubberneck someone else's tragedy. This one was no different. He'd only recognized five faces out of dozens who had entered the church, and they had belonged to Lawrence's parents, his two sisters, and a fiancé who broke off the engagement after he was drafted. Despite how long he had known Lawrence, Logan had never met any of them in person. The only reason he even recognized them was because Lawrence had shown him an old family photo while in Korea. He scoffed to himself, knowing that if they had really cared they would have been more present while he was alive.

As the man at the pulpit finished up, he returned to his car and waited as the attendees began a funeral procession to Long Island National Cemetery. Logan started his car and followed from a distance, thankful that S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to pull a few strings for him to make Lawrence's burial the same day as the church service.

At the national cemetery, he hung back as Lawrence was given his military honors. The taps began, and he stood at attention as the rifles fired until the very end. With a shaky hand, he pulled a cigar from his coat pocket and lit the filler. He silently cursed the tremor that had become a new constant in his life. Logan wanted to blame it on the cold or the barbiturates he'd tried to overdose on. It was just two days ago that he'd taken enough pills to kill a bear, and even so he knew the medication was completely out of his system. In fact, it hadn't even taken him more than several hours to wake up, and then only a few more to fully recover.

A part of him didn't want to acknowledge just how shaken Lawrence's death had left him. He'd seen, and caused, the deaths of countless people. This, however, was different.

As he puffed the cigar to life, he leaned against his Mustang and watched the visitors leave. The first snowflakes of the year began to fall, flecking his black coat with white specks. Logan felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see June standing beside him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I didn't think I'd see you here."

"I wasn't sure how…welcomed I'd be at the funeral, so I came here to pay my respects." She said, brushing a short strand of hair out of her face.

"I would've had your back, June. No one would've dared to start anything." He replied.

"Trust me, I know, but you've been itching for a fight all week. I can see it, and with your luck the two of us would've been kicked out anyway."

His luck. Was there even such a thing? "Well, you didn't miss anything. The guy who gave the eulogy didn't know jack shit about Lawrence. Hell, I'd never even _seen_ the guy before today."

"Logan, I'm so sorry." She said.

He sighed, the gray smoke from his cigar and the heat of his breath forming a large cloud. "Me too."

"None of this was your fault."

"No? I'm what connected him to the men we're trying to find. They _used_ him, June. They used him to get to me. Hell, to them he was just a means to an end, a fucking pawn." As he talked he could feel his rage inching closer to the surface, hungry to repay blood with more blood.

Lawrence didn't deserve to be murdered. For the hundredth time, his thoughts wandered to what his friend's last hours must have been like. He could easily imagine it all. Lawrence's firm resolve hiding whatever fear he had, unwilling to break for the sake of Logan's safety even if it costed him his life. Logan knew for a fact that they had tried to interrogate Lawrence for any information he had. The deep lacerations and dark bruises had told him as much. He closed his eyes as the guilt closed in on his chest. June was wrong. Everything about this was his fault, and he could trace the blood trail all back to when he began working for Carlisle.

June's voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts. "Listen, I promise you we'll do our damn best to find Stryker and Thorton."

He opened his eyes and his gaze lingered on the walnut casket sitting underneath the canopy tent. A thought crossed Logan's mind and he furrowed his brow. Knowing how these twisted men were, he vowed to himself to do all he could to prevent this from happening again. Stryker and Thorton, if they were really the men behind it all, would undoubtedly up the ante if he continued assisting S.H.I.E.L.D. He looked over at June and his eyes met hers, both soft and caring. She and Ida were just about the only people left who he cared about, and he realized he couldn't take the chance of bringing harm their way. Besides, it was time for him to take matters into his own hands. S.H.I.E.L.D. was legally bound to uphold the law and follow protocol while he had the ability and know-how to work around it. Logan took another puff of his cigar and sighed.

"I quit." He said as he stared ahead through the thickening snow.

" _What_?" June exclaimed as she took a double take.

"Did I stutter?"

She studied him with wide eyes. "You can't quit! Do you realize how much you've helped us? If you quit now our investigation is going to lose a hell of a lot of speed!"

"There's too much at stake for me to stay involved."

"Bullshit, you're just throwing yourself a pity party." She huffed as she crossed her arms.

He looked over at her and blinked, taken off guard by the comment. " _Excuse me_?"

"I don't know how Lawrence dealt with you—" she stopped herself short as Logan's gaze turned into a fierce glare, his anger igniting like a match set to a can of kerosene.

"Watch it! You're treading on some mighty thin ice!" He snarled. She glanced at his clenched fists. He couldn't remember when he had closed them, but his knuckles were white from the taut skin. Noticing the fear in her eyes, he took a deep breath and forced himself to unclench them. Scaring her wasn't his intention. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but his reaction had been second nature.

Instinctive.

He shook his head and opened the car door to leave. June stopped him in his tracks by quickly placing her hand on his arm. "Wait, before you go I have to ask you something. I was doing some digging in the apartment of the man we interrogated last week. I found a document that mentioned something called 'Weapon X'. With you being a former member of Team X, I thought you might recognize it. Does it sound familiar to you?"

"No, but it sounds like they're connected. It wouldn't surprise me if they were."

"Well whatever it is, _please_ let us handle this. We still don't know what we're dealing with exactly. And if you're really serious about quitting, you no longer have permission nor the clearances to investigate."

"I can't promise you that." He replied. Without another word, he pulled his arm away and dropped behind the steering wheel before driving towards the exit of the cemetery.

For a while he just drove, not caring about where he was going nor how quickly the snow was beginning to fall. As the sky grew darker, he headed towards the bar in Queens where he and Lawrence had planned on celebrating his employment at S.H.I.E.L.D. He parked the car and stared at the neon open sign as it flickered. For once in his life, he thought he finally had something nice. It hadn't even lasted for more than two months before it was all violently ripped away from him.

With a sigh, he left his car and entered the bar. He took a seat at the counter and ordered two glasses of the strongest liquor the bartender had. The bartender handed him the two glasses and Logan set one aside in front of the empty barstool to his left. As his mind wandered he rested his head on his hand, swirling the amber drink in the glass as his thoughts raced. He breathed in deeply through his nose and rubbed his eyes. There was a part of him that knew this would happen. The good things in his life never lasted long. He had hoped that, for once, he might have been wrong. Yet it was as if the metaphorical blood on his hands left a stain on everything he touched, and sometimes that stain was nothing more than a target for Death herself.

Logan downed the drink, ordered another three, downed those, and then ordered even more. He was on his fifteenth glass when he finally lit one of the Cuban cigars he found two months ago. As the smoke snaked around his head, he bitterly wished he could get drunk for more than half a minute to forget his pain. As he let the cigar sit between his fingers, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye sit beside him on his right. Furrowing his brow, he glanced to his left and his frown deepened. Almost all of the barstools were empty, and yet the man chose to sit right next to him. His grip on the whiskey glass tightened and he continued to ignore the stranger beside him.

"Hey bartender, I'd like to order this man another drink." The man said.

Logan waved off the bartender and glared at him. "Look, bub, whatever it is you want I'm not in the mood."

"You worked for Carlisle, right?" He asked.

Without warning, he snagged him by the lapel of his pinstripe blazer with both hands and scowled. "What the hell do you want?"

"Woah! Easy! This is more about what _you_ might want."

"Then I suggest you explain yourself quickly!" He snarled.

"I heard your friend was taken out by some secret organization or something. I work for a guy who can get you details that no one's gonna find without the right connections." He explained. "Now can ya let go? I just picked this jacket up from the cleaners today."

Logan narrowed his eyes before reluctantly releasing him. The man thanked him and promptly began to smooth out the wrinkles. "How the fuck do you know about Lawrence?"

"Your landlord has a few friends in higher places, if you know what I mean, and he has quite the mouth. That kind of gossip goes a long way, and a death like that? There's no doubt you want _some_ kind of revenge. Hell, I know I would."

He eyed him and puffed his cigar. The man was right. The thought of revenge had come to him the moment S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived and began their investigation. His friend deserved to live a full life before dying peacefully, not butchered and put on display to be used as a cheap threat. Since this was his fault, he owed it to Lawrence to bring those men justice. He hated himself for realizing too late that the deeper he dived into illegal activity, the deeper he pulled Lawrence down with him. That was who Lawrence was, though. Loyal till the end, even if it meant his life.

"What's his name?"

"Anthony Volerio, his connections should be able to gather something. They're clued in on things that the president doesn't even know about. I can take you to him if you're interested."

Logan gave him a scrutinizing stare. Carlisle had mentioned the name a few times, and each time he did he had nothing good to say about the man. Of course, he had known to take everything Carlisle had to say with a grain of salt, but he couldn't help but be a little suspicious. "I swear if this is a set up—"

"It's not, but don't expect Volerio to dole out information for free, especially to someone who used to work for a rival."

"Figures." he muttered as he paid the bartender, "What's your name?"

"Alan," he replied. "My car is parked out front."

"Then let's stop dicking around and get going." He said as he stood.

* * *

They pulled into a small side parking lot alongside what seemed to be a family owned restaurant. Logan stepped out of the green Buick Skylark and stared past the snow where his eyes settled on the sheer, patterned curtains and the warm light inside. There were at least five silhouettes that he could make out sitting around a table. Their laughter and the varying timbre of their voices leaked through the walls of the establishment as his nose wrinkled at the unmistakable, faint stench of cigarette smoke. Alan shut the car door and Logan followed his lead.

The moment he stepped into the dining area the five men quieted, their conversation grinding to a halt. Judging by the ashtrays on the table, they had been sitting around for a couple hours. Two of them continued to smoke their cigarettes as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The other three studied him with penetrating stares, daring him to make a wrong move. To say they didn't trust him would have been an understatement. Logan could even smell it in their sweat. He casually shook the snow off his coat and hung it on a coat rack as he ignored the stiff silence. He couldn't blame them for being on edge, and he was convinced Alan was the only reason they hadn't drawn any weapons.

"Well if it isn't Carlisle's old lapdog." A stocky man with hulking shoulders said.

"You must be Volerio." Logan replied, ignoring the insult as he walked over to the round dining table.

"I am." He replied before he took a long drag off his cigarette. "You know, Carlisle deserved what happened to him."

"I agree."

Volerio narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Do you know how much trouble that prick caused me because of the work you did? How many clients I lost? And now you have the balls to show up on my doorstep. Why?"

"Alan told me you have connections with people who know things that Nixon doesn't even know."

"What about it?"

He helped himself to the last empty chair at the table and locked eyes with the burly man. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to know everything there is about a project called 'Weapon X'."

"You're willing to do _anything_? Are you sure?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Logan could see that his tantalizing offer had started to change this man's opinion of him.

"Sure as hell,"

Volerio shrugged to himself, seemingly satisfied by Logan's sheer determination. "If that's the case you can start by guarding my daughter, Gwen, for a week. While people are glad Carlisle's gone, no one knows who killed him. Other families have received threats recently and Gwen's my pride and joy. I would be devastated if something happened to her."

That sounded simple enough. Besides, in Logan's mind, body guarding was just a glorified babysitting position. He could easily do that for a week. "When do I start?"

"Come by tomorrow around six in the morning and Ramone will take you to her apartment." He replied as he gestured to the stocky man on his right with a horseshoe mustache. "You have until then to gather your things. I'll send someone to get word out to my contacts tomorrow about this Weapon X project you're so desperate to know about."

"Excellent."

* * *

JANUARY 26TH, 1973

June pushed a lock of her curly hair out of her face and knocked on her grandmother's door. It had been almost a week since she'd last seen her, and she was eager to be in her grandmother's company once again. Her free time had taken a sharp decline and work had been overwhelming as of late. Logan's wealth of knowledge and personal experience had been a great asset to the team. Without his help, their investigation had hit a brick wall. With all the recent stress, seeing her grandmother was just what she needed. Visiting Ida and listening to her encouraging words of wisdom always restored her peace of mind. The door opened wide and she was greeted with a tight hug.

"I'm so glad you were able to swing by today, June!" Ida exclaimed.

"Me too, work has been crazy this week." She smiled as she pulled away.

"Have you had coffee yet?"

She shook her head.

"Good, I just made a pot and I could use another person to help me finish it off."

June chuckled as she followed her grandmother inside and into the kitchen. Ida pulled a coffee mug out of a cabinet and handed it to her. June thanked her and poured what was left in the pot into her cup.

"Did you hear what happened to Lawrence?" Ida asked.

She faltered in stirring some sugar into her coffee and sighed. "Unfortunately,"

"Poor thing," she tutted, "I wonder how James is handling it. You know I haven't heard nor seen him all week."

"Well, I wouldn't know, Gram. He quit his job after Lawrence's funeral and hasn't contacted us since."

She frowned, a deep crease forming between her already wrinkled brow. June knew the look well and could see that she was deep in thought. "Do you think he's okay? Usually, I can tell when he's home but..."

"But?"

"I don't know, call me crazy but it's like he just disappeared. I tried knocking two days ago but he wasn't there." She explained.

"Maybe he didn't answer because he's sulking." She shrugged. Ida shot her a motherly look.

"June! Where's your compassion?"

"Gram, he has a history of alcohol and drug abuse." She had found out about the latter on her own. Logan was an incredibly private person and had never talked about that side of his past. Part of her job description was to be nosy, but even so she refused to add it to his file. June figured it was in the past so in the past it would stay.

"That doesn't mean his pain is any less valid." She chided.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was right. Regardless, she was disappointed that Logan had quit so readily. To her, it felt like he was giving up and accepting defeat. She was more than willing to find the people behind Lawrence's murder and put them behind bars. Logan's resignation felt like he doubted her and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ability to do so. Yet, at the same time, she had to remind herself that Lawrence was his closest friend. She knew that grief was messy and different for everyone. June only hoped that he hadn't dived off the deep end.

"Would it make you feel better if I checked his place myself?" She finally asked.

"Would you?"

"Sure," she said as she set her coffee down, "I mean he's only one floor above you."

Ida thanked her, and she left her grandmother's apartment and ascended the steps to the fourth floor. She followed the hallway to the right until she reached his door. With a sigh, she knocked.

"Logan? Are you in there?"

No answer.

She knocked more forcefully and rested an ear against the door. The only sound she could make out was the hissing of the steam radiator. Out of curiosity, she tried the doorknob and was surprised when it gave. Her eyebrows knit together as a knot formed in her stomach, knowing that Logan hardly ever left his door unlocked. She hesitated before finally easing the door open.

His apartment was messier than usual with some stray garments laying around. The smell, however, was the worst. The unit was beyond musty and it reeked as if something had been left out. June shook her head and stepped inside to examine the place, looking for any explanation in the details she found. On the bookshelf, his humidor was open and empty. Next to it, the handset to the rotary phone lay off the hook. She frowned and entered his bedroom and noticed five empty hangers in the closet. The empty suitcase sitting in the corner, however, told her that he had only planned to be gone for only a week tops. He clearly hadn't decided to leave for good just yet. June was aware of his habit of disappearing without a trace. From what she had gathered, this was not one of those times.

Yet in her gut, she knew something wasn't right. She returned to the living room and used his phone to dial Fury's number.

"Logan, how did you get this number?"

"Fury, it's June."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Is something wrong? You sound tense and you're calling from Logan's landline." He said.

"Listen, apparently there's been no sign of him for over a week now. Have you all been keeping tabs on him?" She asked.

"Not that I know of, and to tell you the truth, Logan has been the least of our worries today. The Pentagon just informed me that Magneto escaped."

"What? How?"

"Word is that three or four mutants helped him Houdini his way out. There's no footage since some punk interrupted the security feed with television feed. Needless to say, a man with a healing factor, who's likely morally gray at this point, is the least of our worries."

June frowned. Something didn't seem right. "So, I take it we won't be able to track Logan until we figure out why some mutants broke Magneto out of prison and where they are?"

"Unfortunately. We simply don't have the resources to successfully do both while still keeping an eye on other things."

"I understand," she sighed, "just let me know if something about Logan pops up, okay? He can be…unpredictable."

"Of course, now if you'll excuse me I have phone calls I need to make and paperwork to fax."

She nodded to herself and returned the phone to its cradle. June rested her hands on her hips as she looked around his apartment, trying to gather her thoughts and plan her next steps. Her schedule was already consumed by the adamantium case. Searching for Logan now, as concerned as she was for his current mental state, was out of the question. Besides, he could handle himself, right? If he had wanted to be contacted, Logan would have made that clear. Ye knowing his self-destructive tendencies had her doubting that.

June sighed and opened a window to let some brisk, refreshing air into the stuffy apartment. As she made her way to leave, she saw the mess of documents that were still spread out on the dining table. She paused before casting a glance at the door. If anyone else had barged in, there was a whole file of sensitive information that would have been up for grabs.

It was one more detail on the growing list of things she'd found uncharacteristic of Logan. Wherever he went, he must have been pressed for time and had forgotten about the documents. She shook her head and began gathering the papers. Her eyes caught a note that was scrawled out in messy handwriting. It was to Lawrence, and June felt her heart ache with sympathy for Logan.

As she walked around the table to pick up the rest of the file, her foot hit an object with a dull clink. She heard the object roll forward and she set down the papers in her hand to duck under the table. Her blood ran cold as she spotted the iconic orange and white features of a prescription bottle.

What was Logan doing with a prescription?

Her heart stumbled over its own rhythm as she picked up the bottle. She took a seat in one of the chairs and read the label, noting that each tablet was one hundred milligrams of butabarbital. According to the instructions, the maximum daily dosage capped at two hundred milligrams. Her hand covered her mouth. The bottle was completely empty, and its lid was missing, causing her to fear the worst.

"Oh Logan, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

* * *

Logan closed his eyes and tried to force himself to relax. It wouldn't be for another several hours before they landed in Paris. As much as he hated flying, he knew in his gut that he would need every ounce of his energy for what was to come.

He had to admit that having his present mind inside his past body was…weird. Excluding his seventies haircut and the lack of adamantium, his physical appearance was the same. His mind was a different story. Mentally, he felt overwhelmed by the colliding memories of his past and present self. Several years ago, when the X-Men were still in one piece, Charles had helped him recover most of his memories that had been lost thanks to Weapon X. It was strange feeling how suddenly fresh and raw they were. What stood out to him most, though, was the grief that gripped him. As he sat there with his eyes closed, he found he could trace it back to the loss of fellow mutants from his own present. The strongest tie to the grief, however, was the death of someone he had forgotten until now.

A man named Lawrence Bailey.

He remembered how incredibly close they had been, and how he had lost it all. Logan wondered if he was the only one left who remembered him. There was someone else who came to mind. A woman who, if she was still alive, would be in her eighties. But she had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., and the agency was no more than a pile of smoldering rubble in his world.

For a moment his eyes opened, half-lidded with fatigue. Charles was still in the same seat, but Erik had moved to sit beside him. He set down a chess set and poured himself a glass of liquor as he attempted making idle conversation with Charles. Logan watched the two of them as they began to repair the bridges that had been burned. The sight caused a longing to pull at his chest. If he had been sent back in time earlier, he could've saved his own friend's life.

Logan's eyes closed again. He couldn't think that way. His past had to stay in the past where it belonged. Besides, this wasn't about him. This mission was for the greater good of all mutants. A few dredged-up memories that were still raw to his past self weren't important. What they were attempting to alter tomorrow was bigger than him and his past mistakes, and he would simply have to deal with that.

Out of the blue, the memory of Lawrence's excitement over the news he'd accepted a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. came to mind. He smiled to himself, savoring the vivid memory. Of course, he wasn't working for the agency at the moment, but he couldn't help but wonder how his friend would react to seeing him now. He was playing a role in something so much bigger, something that would alter the course of history if everything went according to plan.

Logan had no doubt Lawrence would be proud of him, and he was satisfied with that.


	7. Epilogue

March, 2023

Logan stared at the address he had written down before his gaze flicked up to the building in front of him. The numbers displayed on a metal plate drilled into a brick wall matched up perfectly, and he shoved the scrap paper back into his pocket.

This was the place.

He felt a fresh swell of uncertainty rise within him. Thanks to his rotten memory, it had taken him several decades to do this. Something he should have done sooner. His gaze wandered to the French doors, and the more he stood there staring, the more hesitant he felt. He drew a deep breath in through his nose.

It was now or never.

As he pulled open the white, wooden door, he tried to think back to how many years it'd been at this point exactly. He was still sorting out both timelines in his head and compartmentalizing the old one. Now that his mind had caught up to himself, he had to work harder to remember the things that had actually happened. At least going back in time had only altered a little more than a third of his lifetime. Then again, that was still fifty years' worth of memories he had to tuck away for good.

The scent that hit his nose as he shut the door behind him was only vaguely familiar. He hadn't visited these places often, and when he did he usually stayed outside. Among the smell of mothballs, an odd mix of flowery fragrances, and cleaning solution was an underlying smell of death. However, it wasn't the kind of death he usually encountered. This one was natural and usually peaceful. The kind of death that most people hoped for.

He went over to the receptionist and asked for a name, to which she happily gave him the information he needed and informed him that the woman was most likely in the garden.

He thanked the young lady and followed her directions. Sure enough, he found the garden and stepped outside through some glass double doors. There were spots of shade, but most of the now flowering garden was soaked in sunlight. With the mild chill of early spring, the sun felt incredible on his skin. He took a brief moment to bask in the sun and watch the swaying, budding leaves before searching for the woman he was looking for. It didn't take him long to find her sitting on a wooden bench with a book in her hands.

Logan stayed where he was and observed her for a brief moment. Time had left its mark on her, leaving her skin wrinkled and her hair nearly white. The glasses she wore were thick and the muscle that she once possessed had atrophied. Seeing the young woman he once knew in such a state left him feeling a strong sense of nostalgia. Despite the laugh lines carved into her face, there was a longing inside him for something he couldn't quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was the knowledge that each wrinkle marked a moment he'd missed. A memory he had been absent from. All things that had been robbed of him.

Logan shook his head to clear the feeling, drew a deep breath, and walked over to her.

His shadow shrouded her book, interrupting her reading and causing her to look up at him. Her eyes immediately widened in astonishment and her jaw looked like it could touch the ground. "Logan?" She asked quietly, her tone indicating she was hopeful it was true.

He offered a sheepish smile. "Hi June,"

She set her book aside and rose to her feet before taking him into a tight embrace. Honestly, the last thing he had expected from her was a hug. His last encounter with her had been terse, and his disappearance hadn't done any favors to what he thought was a burned bridge. As Logan wrapped his arms around her, he realized he should've known better. June had forgiven him before, and it shouldn't have surprised him that she would do it again.

When she had finally let go, she sat down again and patted the space beside her. He indulged in her simple request.

"You haven't aged a day, except for those gray hairs that I see." She grinned as she traced the silver hairs with boney fingers.

"That's what happens when you're well over a hundred years old." He chuckled.

"Is that so? I'll have to take your word for it." She said. "You know after you disappeared, it took me some time to accept the possibility you were dead. You left without warning with an empty pill bottle on the floor of your apartment, and no trace of you to track. At least not until we saw you on the TV with those other mutants. But then you went and disappeared again."

Logan scratched his head. "Yeah, a lot happened after that incident, June."

She noticed the change in his tone and placed her weathered hand over his. "Where did you go?"

"It wasn't by choice. I was taken to a research facility in Canada to be experimented on. Not my first rodeo with that kind of stuff, of course, but this time they didn't just play with my healing factor. They messed with my mind, nearly turned me into a weapon, and wiped my memory in the process." He held out his hand and showed her, his claws unsheathing with a familiar metallic _snikt_. The radiant sunlight glinted off the metal claws and June's brow furrowed as she carefully pulled his arm closer to get a better look.

"Is this," her concerned gaze flitted to meet his eyes, "is this what I think it is?"

"Adamantium? Yeah, ironic isn't it?" He smiled wistfully. "It's bonded to my entire skeleton."

"My word, Logan, I swear if we had any idea that—"

He retracted his claws and held up his hand to stop her. "I know, you and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D would've intervened."

Her eyes narrowed. "We would've done more than just _intervene_."

He couldn't help but laugh at her sinister insinuation. It wasn't because he didn't believe her. He'd witnessed what she was capable of in her prime. Instead it was the fact that she was still the spitfire, no-nonsense, woman he knew underneath her sweet, aged exterior. "Trust me, they paid their dues a while ago."

She relaxed with that before looking him over. "Whatever you've been doing all these years has been good for you, Logan. In the short time I knew you, I don't think I ever saw you truly laugh."

"It's taken a long time to get to this point, and I'm still a work in progress."

"Aren't we all?" She smiled.

He nodded to himself before casting her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry this visit didn't happen sooner."

"Well you're here now, and that's what matters. Besides, it seems like you didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Guess I didn't." He mused as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I hope someone else has been visiting you in the meantime."

June chuckled. "A few years after you disappeared I settled down. My son and grandkids visit me several times a month. They live about twenty minutes away from here. My daughter, on the other hand, lives in Nebraska with my son-in-law and grandson. They run a farm out there, so they can't visit as much. My grandson's also starting to barrel race competitively, which requires both time and money."

"Sounds like you have a wonderful family."

"I do. You know, you're more than welcome to join us for dinner or an outing when you have the time!"

"I would love that." He grinned.

She returned his smile and gently patted his hand. "It really is good to see you again, Logan."

"It's good to see you too." He replied as he leaned back against the bench. "So, tell me about this family of yours."

As June told her story, he couldn't help but feel truly happy for her. Sure, her life wasn't without struggles and trials, but she had been able to achieve her goals and carry on her legacy with, what he could tell, was a beautiful family. Logan's only regret was he had missed it all, but maybe it was for the better. While his current mental state was the best it'd been, it wasn't always like that. Even now there were still kinks in his thought processes that needed to be worked out. He reminded himself, however, what June had told him. What mattered was that he was here now and trying to make up for lost time. In fact, with the way she chatted with him it felt like he had missed no time at all, and he found himself immeasurably grateful for her grace once again.


End file.
